


rooks and roses

by orbitalknight



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alcohol, Banter, Family History, First Kiss, Kissing Lessons, M/M, Party, Pining, canon compliant swearing, etienne finally spends time with someone as disinclined to shut up as he is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-16 08:49:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28579281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orbitalknight/pseuds/orbitalknight
Summary: If you were to wander about the streets of the Holy See, there is a distinct possibility that you may sight in passing the youngest son of House Dzemael and the savior of Ishgard, engaged in animated discussion.If you were to look closer, you may be lucky enough to notice the distinct fondness of their locked gazes as they speak.
Relationships: Warrior of Light/Archombadin de Dzemael
Comments: 6
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> thank you, first of all, to all my wonderful friends who told me i should post this even though i've been embarrassed out of my mind about it.
> 
> i'm not going to make any disclaimers! this is genuinely one of my favorite things i've written. however, some relevant information:
> 
> this piece contains spoilers for the scholasticate questline, as well as a minor spoiler for the moogle beast tribe quests. it also references etienne's background, which can be found here: https://na.finalfantasyxiv.com/lodestone/character/33429975/ (as of this writing he is still a lalafell, so i've linked his double on the primal data center for a better visual. i don't have the whisperfine woolen coat over there, though, and that is what etienne is wearing here,)
> 
> and again the note that etienne is part of a 3 wol au, so there's minor canon divergence.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Etienne stumbles upon several realizations, and is invited to Dzemael Manor.

If you had told Etienne Penne after his first meeting with Archombadin de Dzemael in the hallowed halls of Saint Endalim’s Scholasticate that they would be some time later having a sincerely romantic affair, he would have laughed.

_ “That haughty mess of a highborn Ishgardian? Never. Besides, are he and his manservant not... you know?”  _

(To the second point, he’d been halfway right. Lebrassoir had been the catalyst for Archombadin’s realization that he would be going the same way as his eldest brother in regards to not perpetuating the Dzemael line. Still, following the events with Father Saturnois, the two had privately agreed that while their friendship could be rekindled, whatever had started to bloom between them was damaged beyond repair. There were some lies you could not come back from, as Etienne knew altogether too well.) 

Before the romance had, of course, been the budding of what was by many accounts an unlikely friendship. Etienne had not liked Archombadin upon their first meeting, and liked him less upon the second. Though he would concede there was a handsomeness to the sharp lines of Archomadin’s cheekbones, the curve of his hooked nose, even the imperious tilt of his lips. And thus was the mocking moniker adopted— Etienne would refuse on principle to call Archombadin by his full name, instead, from here forward, he would be referred to only as “Chomby.” It was a nickname in part adopted to torment the young lord, and to the other part some attempt by Etienne to still any inconvenient feelings before they had a chance to stir. Etienne was, much to his chagrin, aware of his penchant for falling for white haired Ishgardian men. 

It had worked, at least on the first point. Etienne had taken some smug pleasure in how ruffled Archombadin became when not afforded the dignity he presumed he deserved. It was cute, even, which had been the first stone to tumble down the hill. Over the course of his investigation/evaluation with Inspector Briardien, Etienne had found to his own surprise more and more that he liked Archombadin. It was not only that none of the other Scholasticate students could match with the same speed of wit what he knew about Ishgardian history and literature, though they batted references back and forth until Archombadin had eventually admitted that what Etienne knew was impressive, especially for a foreigner. There was something in his self-serious demeanor, the weight of the pride he carried for his house and his city and his studies, that assured Etienne none of the rumors about Archombain’s involvement with the kidnapping of Ulaa were of any substance, even as the lack of evidence unraveled the knot at the heart of the case. He had said as much, and loudly, some gladiatorial passion rising in the hollow of his ribcage, a forgotten phoenix of long-ago fiery days. 

Suffice it to say, by the end of the investigation, Etienne had not particularly wanted to say goodbye. He’d become close with all of the most involved students, once they’d reached first-name only familiarity, at least. But he held some particular fondness for Archombadin despite the sour start, and wondered if the “haughty mess of a highborn Ishgardian” did not feel something similar towards him. 

The following exchange occurred as Etienne was making his farewells to Ishgard, and paying one last visit to his seminarian friends:

Etienne hugged Crammevoix, who made some comment on how there was a tender touch he so rarely got to see. He squeezed Leigh, who was only eager to pull away so they could bump fists. Theomocent had also been on the receiving end of a hug, but it had come awkwardly as he tried to gift Etienne his own copy of _ The Parables of Saint Daniffen  _ at the same time. 

To Archombadin, Etienne had extended a cordial hand. “Well, my good ser, best of luck in your endeavors.”

Archombadin had stared at him, mouth slightly agape. Crammevoix had tried very hard not to laugh.

“I’m joking!” Etienne had said, wrapping his arms around Archombadin’s torso and sticking his head face-first into the scholasticate robes, so he was hardly audible when he added: “I’m going to miss you, Chomby.” 

Archombadin, still uncertain of where he should put his hands, simply said “Likewise.” 

And Etienne had, despite his best efforts, very much missed Archombadin. 

***

Some time passed before Etienne made his way back to Ishgard, despite his wish to return as soon as possible. He’d two reasons to return: assisting in the restoration of the Firmament, and a personal inquiry that was currently being investigated by Inspector Briardien. The second reason was in regards to Etienne’s mother, and he was trying not to think about it overmuch. So he filled his time with visits to friends, including those at the Scholasticate, and the study of Sharlayan Astromancy, though he was somewhat regretting the latter activity. Still, spending time with the youngest son of house Durendaire brought Etienne’s attention to the other crests on the Ishgardian flag, and he wondered if he could act as some sort of intermediary for the rook and the rose he was so fond of. 

Etienne wanted to introduce Archombadin to Francel de Haillenarte in a casual setting, as his two favorite youngest High House lords, but more importantly as his friends. He had brought them both to tea. Etienne had expected Francel to be the one who would need his help in the conversation, but it had been Archombadin to whom much of Etienne’s attention had been directed. A gentle question here, a word or two of teasing there, all to which Francel had responded with his characteristic optimism and friendliness... By the end of it, the three of them had agreed upon a second tea. And yet again, to Etienne’s surprise, instead of wandering the streets back to the Firmament with Francel, he found himself beside Archombadin, who seemed as though he did not know where to go next. 

“That went rather well, did it not?” Etienne peered up at Archombadin, trying to read his expression. This was not the confident lordling he knew. 

Archombadin folded his arms, putting on the air of said confidence, though Etienne was not convinced. “Lord Francel is not the same stuttering young nobleman I recall from the last social gathering of the High Houses where we were both in attendance. He is dedicated fully to the restoration effort, and all the more sure of himself besides.” 

“As you are to your studies at the Scholasticate, no?” Etienne motioned to the robes which Archombadin had worn to their teatime. 

Something clouded Archombadin’s expression. “Indeed.” He inhaled as if to say more, but instead let the breath out as a sigh. “Etienne, have you some urgent task to attend? If not, I would trouble you for your company. I believe a walk is in order, and I would much prefer not to do so alone.” 

“Oh!” The request had come as a surprise, but Etienne nodded. “Of course. I’ve no plans in particular.” 

“Good.” Archombadin nodded, and his expression softened slightly. Much to Etienne’s dismay, the slight smile on the corner of Archombadin’s lips had played a note on his heartstrings. 

Without another word, Archombadin set off across the cobblestones of the Pillars. Etienne had to jog to keep up with him, given he was nearly two full fulms shorter. Still, it was to be expected. Archombadin was used to being accompanied by someone much closer to his height. Archombadin slowed once they passed the Tribunal, his eyes momentarily shifting from straight ahead to the double doors that lead inside. They made something of an odd pair, a scowling seminarian and Etienne in a slightly oversized woolen coat, the turtleneck of a sweater peeking out from above the wooden toggles that kept it closed. 

“Chomby, are you alright?” Even once they had passed the Tribunal, Archombadin’s expression hadn’t become less sour. Etienne yanked on his sleeve. “If you’re going to bring me along for company, the least you could do is tell me where we’re going.” 

Archombadin stopped in the center of the pavement, and Etienne nearly fell over from trying to stop beside him. “No, I am not ‘alright,’ and furthermore I did not ask your company to listen to you complain. If you must know, I had intended to bring you to the Crozier that you may provide some advice as to which confections are best for one who is in a particularly foul mood.”

Etienne folded his arms, slowly, making it obvious the motion was calculated. “So you do not agree that tea went well.” 

Archombadin scoffed. “ _ Tea _ was not the issue. It is your motives, and those of Francel de Haillenarte, that vex me so!” 

“Well, my motives are simple.” Etienne shrugged, “Introduce two of my dear friends, and enjoy the time spent with the both of them. And I cannot speak for Francel, but I would assume that while he would be delighted should you ask House Dzemael to lend an ear to the restoration effort, if you did not he would simply be glad to have made your acquaintance.” 

“You will forgive the fact that I cannot accept  _ friendship _ as a sufficiently innocent explanation.”The words were bitter.

Etienne did not let them sting. “You are wrong to think yourself the only one to have suffered from deception. Regardless,” A coy smile sidled onto his lips, “If I so desired the Dzemael fortune I would simply ask your grandfather.” 

Archombadin made a sound somewhere between an incredulous gasp and a coeurl being kicked. “And here I was living in the blissful ignorance of having forgotten the former count’s fondness for you.” 

“Indeed,” said Etienne, “Now, I believe you owe me a Sohm Al tart for my trouble.” 

Though it had been a meeting that centered around Francel’s involvement, somehow the time that Etienne spent with Archombadin afterward had set a sort of precedent for the two of them to continually have similar engagements. Etienne had tried to arrange such get-togethers between himself and the other seminarians that he considered dear friends, but they were rather busy with reforming the entirety of the Ishgardian religious education system. Archombadin should have been as well, by all estimations, but he somehow never failed to have time for Etienne. He was never late if a time was appointed, and never truly upset when Etienne was, beyond a few chiding words. Usually they walked, as they had the first time, speaking on a variety of subjects to a varying degree of banter and candid conversation. Etienne listened attentively to Archombadin’s recounting of the woes of house Dzemael, and in kind he allowed Etienne to prattle on about his travels. Etienne knew eventually his own family would come up as a topic for discussion, but as an old wound that always ached in the cold, he did his best to talk around it. 

As the time that Etienne spent in the Holy See dragged on, Inspector Briardien’s investigation on his behalf did at last bear fruit. Briardien characteristically adjusted his spectacles when he handed Etienne the bound contents of his findings. 

“I would advise you,” said the Inspector, “To use the utmost discretion when sharing this information. The High Houses do not want for ears about the city, and that which I have provided you is of a particularly sensitive nature.” 

Etienne nodded, slowly. “Surely sensitive is not the same as dangerous?” 

“Regardless,” Briardien’s expression softened somewhat, “Have care. Should you need my services again, do not hesitate to call.” 

Etienne smiled up at him. “I would not dream of hiring another, save perhaps Hildibrand, should my problem prove, er, logic-defying.” 

The Inspector made his farewells, and Etienne had taken the aethernet back to his room at the Forgotten Knight to peruse the findings. He was glad to be alone when he read it, for the volume of his gasp at just the first page of the report Briardien had compiled. 

It was a family tree, unillustrated, the lettering in Briardien’s elegant hand. At the very top were the names of the four founders of the High Houses, which Etienne thought a strange inclusion, until he traced each of the lines down. Three ended simply with the name of their appropriate house, but the Haillenarte line down from Driancoin continued. Baurendouin de Haillenarte and his wife were listed, but to the right of the Count was a line that denoted siblinghood, which led to another name.  _ Jennie Gautreaux.  _ Below her name, of course, were two more. Nicolette Gautreaux, and Etienne Penne. 

“Thal’s balls,” said Etienne, to the whole of nobody else who occupied his room, “I’m a  _ Haillenarte?” _

As desperately as he wanted to immediately tell Francel, his  _ cousin  _ Francel, Etienne took Briardien’s advice to heart and decided that he would be best served in speaking to someone with the practical experience of High House leadership, but no attachment to the politics therein. Edmont de Fortemps was a promising option, but there was the chance he’d slip and share the information with Emmanellain, who would in turn tell all of Ishgard. No, that would not do. Luckily, Etienne knew another former Count, who had, as Archombadin put it, a fondness for him. 

Tarresson de Dzemael was not a difficult man to find, when one knew where to look. Though the restoration at Zenith had concluded, the aged Elezen stonemason was often about the Churning Mists, surveying the Rookery and other locations for future projects. A combination of nervous excitement fluttered about in Etienne’s chest as he approached the man, boots crunching on the half-frosted grass. 

Tarresson turned at the sound, a smile splitting the wrinkles of his face. “Ah, Etienne, my boy! I knew you were back in this corner of Eorzea, but I had wondered if I’d not be seeing you before you depart for stranger lands once again. You are still favoring the coat I gave you, I see.” 

Etienne stopped in his tracks, like a moogle caught in an airship’s headlights. “Well, er, yes. It may be the finest coat I’ve ever owned.” 

“I would hope so,” Tarresson said, “The tailoring to your size came at a cost, though I insisted no expense be spared.” 

“Thank you,” Etienne’s voice dropped in volume, “Again. For the coat.” 

“I gather you did not come to see me just to say so?” Tarresson raised an eyebrow.

Etienne sighed. “No, I did not. I am here because I need your advice.” 

Tarresson looked somewhat surprised. “Oh, is that so?” 

“I...” Despite all the anticipation and excitement of being able to share his enormous personal discovery, Etienne suddenly found it hard to speak. “Well, I know I told you my mother is Ishgardian, but just yesterday I found out she was neither of a minor house nor a brumeling, and--”

Tarresson shook his head. “Of course not. Jennie was a Haillenarte before she renounced her title and ran off, wasn’t she?” 

Etienne blinked. He opened his mouth, and then closed it again. “What?” 

Tarresson fixed Etienne with a signature Dzemael smirk. “You didn’t forget this old craftsman was a Count, did you? They called me a political genius for a reason, my boy. There was naught I didn’t know, including that Count Haillenarte’s dear sister was intent on becoming a traveling schoolteacher, howevermuch he tried to keep her in the city. Besides, you’ve got that stink of Haillenarte optimism about you.” 

At this point, all Etienne could do was stare at Tarresson incredulously. 

The old man had a nice chuckle at Etienne’s floundering. “Aye, it all comes together. To think Jennie’s boy would come home to Ishgard when she didn’t.” 

“Tarresson!” Etienne spoke with an indignant tilt to his voice, “However you may have known about my heritage, I did not come here to hear about it a second time. I want your advice on what in the seven hells I should do about it!”

“Alright, alright, don’t get your trousers in a twist,” Tarresson folded his arms, “You’ve no proper claim to the Haillenarte name, since Jennie gave up her title. However, I’d wager Count Brandouin would be more than willing to un-do her decision on your behalf. Having a Warrior of Light beneath the flag of the Rose would certainly do no harm to the house reputation.” 

“So I should approach the Count directly? I am not the expert you are, but I feel as though that may be taken the wrong way.” Etienne idly kicked at a rock on the path. 

Tarresson nodded. “You would be correct. I would advise you to seek out his children first. Perhaps secure yourself an invitation to a Haillenarte dinner, and from there bring forth your evidence.” 

“Oh!” Etienne’s expression brightened, “That will be easy enough. I am often in the company of Francel de Haillenarte, though I have met the other three once or twice.” 

“Good, good,” Tarresson nodded, “Now then, I would assume you have been counseled to share your discovery only with those whom you trust, but I believe the point is worthy of reiteration. You have my word I shall keep my silence as I have thus far.” 

“Thank you,” said Etienne, then, as he cast his gaze down to his boots, “If I wish to tell another member of House Dzemael... would you counsel me otherwise?” 

Tarresson barked out a laugh. “If you meant Jandelaine or Guillefresne, I would indeed advise you against it. But my suspicion is that you are not referring to either of them. You know, Etienne, had you not told me so yourself, I would never have believed you and Archombadin to be acquainted, let alone on such terms as to share private family affairs.”

Etienne rolled his eyes. “He is truly not so socially inept as you make him out to be, Tarresson. Archombadin has been a more than excellent friend to me.” 

“And he may well know better the current affairs of the High Houses than I do.” The former count shrugged, “No, I will not insist you keep this from your  _ excellent friend. _ I suppose I owe you as much for getting the boy to send a letter or two whilst I’ve been away from the city.” 

Etienne smiled. “‘Twas what little I could do for my two favorite Dzemaels. Though I will admit you had little competition.” 

He would tell Chomby, then, and following their conversation bring the matter up with Francel and the other Haillenartes. There was some small voice in the back of Etienne’s mind that wondered if he should not reverse the order of those conversations, but he quieted it with the argument that between the Briardien business and chasing down Tarresson, he’d not had the time for a walk with Archombadin in some time. 

Etienne did not send word in advance. Instead, he waited outside Saint Reymaund’s Cathedral for the bells that signified the end of the day at the Scholasticate to ring, and then stared expectantly at the doors that lead inside for a certain especially tall white-haired Seminarian to walk through. 

Archombadin emerged in a gaggle of students wearing the same robes, though he did outpace all of them in height by a significant margin. Crammevoix, Theomocent, Leigh, and Blaisie were the others in his group, and all turned to look when Etienne waved in their direction. When Etienne made eye contact with Archombadin he was rewarded with an unexpectedly warm smile, and his heart stuttered across the next beat. As soon as Crammevoix elbowed Archombadin to point out Etienne as though they had not seen one another, the expression relaxed into the usual scowl. 

Etienne met the group halfway across the cobblestones, exchanging bright hellos. It was exactly the opportunity he’d been hoping for, to spend time with all of them, but the words that came out of his mouth were instead: “As much as I should like to join you all for the afternoon, would you mind lending me Archombadin’s company? There is a matter I’d like to discuss with him in private.” 

Leigh nodded the most eagerly, but Theomocent and Blaisie were also distinctly unopposed. Crammevoix, however, raised a quizzical eyebrow. “You two certainly do spend a lot of time together.” 

Archombadin parted the group, striding through the other four to stand next to Etienne. “I fail to see why that is of any concern to you, Crammevoix.” 

Crammevoix shrugged, though a sly smile was upon his lips as he did so. “It is not. Still, I would wager that if the competition for Theo’s affections was too stiff for you, you’ll not fare much better going after the bloody hero of Ishgard.” 

Archombadin’s whole body seemed to prickle with a combination of frustration and embarrassment, color rushing to his cheeks. His voice cracked when he spoke: “Etienne. Surely the matter you wish to speak of is urgent? Even if it is not, I shall suffer no more of these...  _ Allegations. _ ” He strode off in the direction of the Vault, leaving Etienne to wave off the others as best he could before following. 

Etienne found Archombadin seated on a familiar bench in a secluded garden off of the path to the Tribunal. The young lord was still pink in the cheeks, looking altogether more ruffled that Etienne had ever seen him. With some trepidation, he sat next to Archombadin, crossing his legs at the ankles. 

“I apologize for embarrassing you in front of your peers,” After a moment of hesitation, Etienne leaned his head against Archombadin’s forearm. 

Archombadin stiffened at the touch, and then relaxed, letting out an especially aggrieved sigh. “You are not to blame for ... Crammevoix. The idle musings of the least attentive seminarian in the Scholasticate should be of no concern to your or to myself. Regardless,” Archombadin turned his head to look at Etienne, “What was it that you wished to discuss?” 

“Oh,” Etienne sat up, “To begin with, I spoke to your grandfather. He said thank you for the letters.” 

Archombadin scoffed. “I am certain he did not.”

“Maybe not in those words,” Etienne conceded, “But nonetheless, he  _ is  _ grateful. Anyroad, my reason for speaking with him did not actually concern you. It was about my mother.” 

“Your mother?” Archombadin frowned, “I do not believe you have spoken about her save for in passing.” 

“There is a reason for that,” Etienne winced, “We are not on the most amicable of terms. A tale for another time... If you would instead recall my association with Inspector Briardien when we first became acquainted. I asked a favor of him, namely to look into my mother’s heritage, as I knew nothing of it save that she is Ishgardian, or, er, was. Before moving to Gridania, I mean.” 

Archombadin’s gaze was attentive. “Go on.” 

“The result of his inquiry was the discovery that my mother is in fact the estranged sister of Count Haillenarte. You are only the second person I have mentioned this to, so,” Etienne fidgeted with the toggles of his jacket, “I would be grateful if you kept it a secret, at least for now. I can even owe you a favor for the trouble, if you like.” 

“You, a Haillenarte?” Archombadin brought a thoughtful hand to his chin, “Yes, I suppose you have the telltale stink of Haillenarte optimism about you.” 

Etienne laughed at that. “Your grandfather said the same thing!”

Archombadin clicked his tongue. “How unfortunate that I must credit him for the observation. Nonetheless, I...” his tone softened by the smallest of margins, “I am flattered that you deemed me worthy of your candor in such a delicate matter.” 

Etienne nodded, smiling at Archombadin. “Though it was not my only reason for telling you, I hope the gesture assuages any lingering doubts you may have on the veracity of my friendship.” 

“Yes, yes, I suppose I will concede your motives are no longer in question,” Archombadin folded his arms, “I shall not be forgoing the use of that favor, however.” 

“Oh?” Etienne leaned forward slightly, “Was there aught you had in mind already?” 

A distinct pause before Archombadin spoke. “No.” 

“Hmm. Whatever it may be, Chomby, I am duty-bound to oblige.” Etienne stood up, giving a dramatic bow. 

Archombadin stood as well, arms still folded. “Is that so? Then perhaps you would be willing to for once cover the cost of a sweet indulgence at the Crozier.” 

“What? No.” Etienne frowned. “Pick another favor.” 

With a smirk, Archombadin set off towards the lower levels of the Pillars. Etienne, still in a bit of a huff, followed along behind him. This time, he did not need to jog. Archombadin kept his pace level with Etienne’s shorter strides, even though he had not been asked. 

***

Etienne still had not managed to secure a proper invitation to a Haillenarte family dinner when Archombadin called upon his room at the Forgotten Knight some days later. It was not something Archombadin had done before. Generally, the two of them arranged their visits at the end of each conversation, though recently their farewells had become considerably more drawn out. Archombadin would insist that he had a dormitory curfew to keep, and Etienne would agree, he had birds to be seeing to, and neither of them would move, not wanting to be the one to take the first step away. Still, Etienne had put on his coat and wandered into the middle level of the tavern feeling somewhat puzzled. 

This confusion was only furthered by the fact that Archombadin was not, in fact, wearing his customary Scholasticate robes. Instead, he wore an alpine coat favored by nobility, dyed in a lush shade of red. It was rather flattering, especially given the other changes Archombadin had made to his wardrobe. 

Etienne did not conceal his up-and-down examination. “I will admit I feel rather underdressed. Is there some special occasion?” 

Archombadin managed to be somehow both sheepish and condescending in his reply. “There... is no special occasion, though I cannot claim confidence in your implication that you would have made a concerted effort to choose more fitting attire if that was indeed the case.”

Etienne raised his eyebrows. “Well, whatever the occasion, you are doing very little to convince me to accompany you. Surely you know this coat was a gift from your grandfather?” 

Archombadin’s shoulders lifted as though he were going to sigh, but instead shook his head. “Need we banter here and now? If you would be so kind as to accept my invitation, we may test our wits from the relative comfort of Dzemael Manor.” 

Etienne’s eyes went wide. “Oh. I suppose it would be rude to decline, especially since you are dressed so nicely.” He smiled up at Archombadin, who seemed hesitant to meet his gaze. 

Nonetheless, Archombadin proffered an elbow for Etienne to take, and Etienne obliged, though yet again their difference in height made the arrangement somewhat difficult to manage. 

As they walked, rather than using the aethernet, to Dzemael Manor, Archombadin let a question float into the cold Coerthan air. “Etienne. Would I be correct in assuming that given your... worldly attitude... you are to a degree experienced in regards to romantic relationships?” 

Etienne nodded vaguely. “I suppose so, yes. I have had a handful of flings, but dozens more one-sided yearnings, or at least I presume they were one-sided as naught came of them.” Etienne wanted to say  _ why do you ask?  _ but he held his tongue, sensing Archombadin had a follow-up question. 

“Indeed.” Archombadin bobbed his head, still looking anywhere except at Etienne, “And in the course of these ‘flings,’ as you put it, did you become at all proficient in the act of kissing?” 

“Oh, Chomby,” Etienne stopped, dragging them both to a halt, “Did Crammevoix say something to you? Is this for some sort of wager? I promise I shall never tell, should that be the case!” 

“It...” Archombadin had no choice but to turn his head to speak to Etienne, who could now see how entirely red in the face he was, “It is not. I am not allowed to ask a relatively simple question, or must I further reiterate the point?” 

“Oh, no, you are allowed,” Even as Archombadin attempted to pull him back into walking, Etienne stood his ground. “And to your question I would say yes, I am more than proficient when it comes to kissing. However, I would know why this is of such concern to you.” 

Archombadin stiffened, somehow managing to blush even harder. He looked around for passersby, and satisfied to see none, spoke. “I am calling upon the favor you owe. Given your proficiency, self-proclaimed or no, I would ask that you... teach me.” 

“Teach you?” Etienne tilted his head, “How to kiss?” 

Archombadin opened his mouth to speak, but as he did so two Ishgardian children ran laughing gleefully beside them, so he instead gave the most painful nod that Etienne had ever seen before marching across the pavement to the stairs of Dzemael manor, leaving Etienne to struggle keeping his arm from being yanked out of its socket by the sudden speed. 

At the top of the stairs, Archombadin spoke a few words to the guard by the door, mentioning this was his guest that he had made note of for security purposes the day before. The guard eyed Etienne warily, so Etienne waved, trying to look as friendly as possible. 

The inside of the famed Rook was beautiful, house Dzemael’s love for craftsmanship shining through the detailing on every wall sconce and staircase railing. The mixed architecture and constant expansion of the estate left the inside with a sense of disjointedness to a visitor, as though two boxes of jigsaw puzzles had been dumped onto the floor and assembled as one. Etienne could have marveled over it for hours, but he did not have the time. Archombadin urged him along up a staircase and down a stone paneled hallway to an impressively carved door. 

“The study,” said Archombadin, “One of several, but my most preferred. That is of no consequence. I have already informed the servants we are not to be disturbed, if you would accompany me inside?” 

Etienne obliged, mouth forming a slight “o” as he walked through the doorway. The inside of the study was cozy, and clearly often used. Books lay in careful piles across the room, including atop a beautiful camphorwood desk and matching table. A padded armchair sat in one corner of the room, near a hearth in which no fire currently burned. The study was well lit by a wide window that looked over what must have been a courtyard of the manor, and a lamp on each of the four walls. 

“Very well,” said Archombadin, clapping his hands together, “I do not mean to hurry you, but our time is limited. Simply direct me as to what I must do in order to most greatly benefit from your experience.” 

“I am admittedly still a bit puzzled by your request,” Etienne spoke as he walked around the room, unbuttoning his coat and leaving it to drape over one of the less comfortable looking chairs in another corner of the room, “But a favor is a favor.” He pointed to the armchair. “We can begin with you sitting there.” For good measure, Etienne took his gloves off. 

Archombadin looked for a second as though he were going to protest. Instead, he did as he was told, looking entirely uncomfortable all the while. He also followed Etienne’s example in removing his gloves, though he seemed even more unsure of this small action. 

Etienne crossed the room to stand in front of the chair, and then seated himself sideways on Archombadin’s lap, crossing his legs at the knee to fit a little better. Archombadin inhaled sharply. 

“Close your eyes.” 

Archombadin scowled, though it was more comedic than intimidating, given he looked a veritable Dzemael tomato from how hard he was blushing. “And why, pray tell, must I do so?” 

“It’s proper kissing etiquette, Chomby,” said Etienne, reaching awkwardly to pat him on the leg, “You asked me to teach you, and I am endeavoring to do so.” 

Archombadin scoffed, his eyes drifting towards the manor floor. “And had I framed this ...  _ diversion  _ otherwise, would you still have agreed to it?” 

“Would I still have agreed to kiss you, you mean?” Etienne lifted his hands so he had one on each of Archombadin’s cheeks, “Well, mayhap I have wanted to for some time, but was under the impression that  _ you  _ would never agree to it. Should we put our competing theories to the proof, Scholasticate prefect?” 

Archombadin huffed out a sigh, but instead of making further comment, he closed his eyes. 

“Good,” Etienne spoke softly, and leaned in. His lips met with some resistance, at first, but that was to be expected. Archombadin was not the type to give in so easily. Etienne moved his hands, slowly, down from the cheeks to the back of Archombadin’s neck, pulling him deeper into the kiss. He was rewarded with a gasp, and Etienne pressed the advantage, letting Archombadin wrap his arms around Etienne’s torso.  _ Oh, you poor highborn boy, when was the last time someone kissed you? _

To Etienne’s surprise, he was the first to pull away, needing to catch his breath. Archombadin looked at him, blue eyes speaking his question before his mouth could get around to it. “Why did you stop?” 

“Oh, did you not want me to? It was my understanding this was naught but a diversion, and I did not want to overindulge you-- mmph!” Before Etienne could finish his wry comment, Archombadin kissed him again. 

It was a clumsy, unpracticed kiss, but Etienne almost liked it all the more for that. He tangled his fingers in Archombadin’s hair, delicately taking the lead despite the fact that Archombadin clearly wanted to be doing so, even given his lack of experience. Instead of breaking away this time, Etienne pressed his lips to the corner of Archombadin’s mouth, then his cheek, his jaw, and his neck. 

Archombadin inhaled sharply. “ _ Etienne.”  _

“Hmm?” Etienne purred, placing a series of kisses along the length of Archombadin’s neck, a feather’s touch each, and very much to the effect he desired. 

“What purpose does this serve in regards to your demonstration?” Archombadin’s voice quavered as he spoke, with none of the condescension with which he usually did so. 

“None at all,” Etienne replied, kissing Archombadin on the cheek again, “Save to convey my affection for you, of which I am relatively certain you were unaware.” 

_ “Affection?” _ Incredulous, this time. 

“Are unaware, then.” Etienne looked Archombadin in the eye, “But, yes, affection. Of a romantic sort, even.” 

Archombadin took a moment to process the statement. “You are joking, surely.”

Etienne shook his head. “That I am not. Archombadin de Dzemael, there is a strong possibility that I may be in love with you.” 

“That I should find myself surprised to hear you speak my full name is rather embarrassing,” Archombadin’s gaze had drifted away again, back to the floor, “But mayhap there is merit to the fact that I have become so accustomed to your pet name.” 

“Well, I did not think ‘Chomby’ was an appropriate appellation for the occasion of a confession.” Etienne smiled, but he was going rather pink in the cheeks himself. 

“Is that so?” Archombadin pulled Etienne a little closer, so their foreheads nearly touched, “And here I had become begrudgingly fond of it. ... And you, I would add.” 

“Oh, only begrudgingly?” Etienne laughed, “Was there someone else you had in mind when you asked me to teach you how to kiss?” 

“Your proficiency in the subject matter has not been proved wanting,” There was a warmth to Archombadin’s voice, even though the familiar haughtiness had returned to his intonation, “But if you so desire a confession from my lips you will have to pay for it with another lesson.” 

“Ah, House Dzemael, ever full of skillful negotiators.” Etienne ran the back of his hand along Archombadin’s cheek, who puffed up like a proud chocobo, “While I will concede your technique has improved, you could certainly stand to benefit from more practice.” 

Etienne had every intention of earning that confession when he pressed his lips to Archombadin’s for the third time. Archombadin had warmed to the contact, it seemed, from how readily he answered each point of pressure that Etienne asked of this kiss. The exchange lasted longer than the previous two, steeped in the wordless wanting that filled the space between each touch. Still it ended, and Etienne shifted his position a little closer, laying his head in the crook of Archombadin’s neck. One hand he looped around Archombadin’s back for support, and the other he used to find Archombadin’s hand. Here, Etienne hesitated. He had every intention of linking their fingers together, and yet somehow the action seemed almost  _ too  _ intimate, despite what they’d been doing just moments ago. Had he presumed wrongly as to what Archombadin was going to say? 

He was not left wondering long. Archombadin laced his fingers together with Etienne’s, and sighed. “Very well. If you must hear it spoken plainly, Etienne Penne, I will concede my affection for you is more than the begrudging sort. Against my better judgement, I do ... love ... you.” 

“Mmm,” Etienne hummed thoughtfully, hoping how delighted the words made him feel would not be entirely obvious, “So I had suspected. ‘Twould be a mite embarrassing if you had said otherwise.” 

“Please,” Archombadin scoffed, “You hardly need my help to embarrass yourself.” 

“Oh!” Etienne sat upright, ready to make an indignant protestation, when Archombadin kissed him again, a smug tilt to his smile as he did so. 

“However,” Archombadin spoke with the tip of his nose brushing up against Etienne’s, “I would prefer you keep this tryst a secret. For now, at the very least. Though I know full well the eagerness of your tongue.” 

Etienne blushed despite himself. “As though  _ your  _ tongue is any better! But I shall be more than happy to keep your confession for my own enjoyment, and I was under the impression that you would not want to have your need of kissing lessons made public to begin with.” 

“My thanks,” Archombadin pulled away, just slightly. “Please do not misunderstand. I would... very much like to see you again, though it need be under some pretense. Perhaps tea?” 

“Tea would be lovely,” Etienne said, kissing Archombadin gently on the lips, “I would not object to a cup right now, in fact, if you would oblige me a break.” 

Archombadin gave a melodramatic sigh. “I suppose that can be arranged.”

“Would you not like to learn how I take my tea for the next time you invite me here?” Etienne brushed a stray white hair from Archombadin’s face. 

“Altogether too sweet, I am sure.” 

“A bold assumption, considering many would say you are quite the opposite, and I like you just the same.” 

Before Archombadin could protest, Etienne kissed him again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> everyone who talks with me on a regular basis knows how much i love the scholasticate questline, and most everyone who knows that also knows after replaying it three times i finally figured out archombadin is my favorite of the included npcs. (sorry, briardien. and also my apologies to lebrassior for stealing his man in this writing and in archombadin's character tag.)
> 
> this fic started as a joke about kissing. and then i fell in love with it, so, you know. even now i'm rolling around an idea for something to follow it up... not sure if it's going to be an epilogue or a chapter two yet!
> 
> as always, kudos and comments are greatly appreciated. thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Archombadin does a considerable amount of thinking, and also attends a party.

“Are you the girl from Ul’dah, or is he  _ your _ girl from Ul’dah?” 

Archombadin looked up from the book he had been reading to see Crammevoix de Maintigny across the table, elbows propping up the hands upon which his head rested. As if his facial hair was not bad enough, the expression on Crammevoix’s face was nigh insufferably smug. 

“I am afraid I do not take your meaning, Crammevoix.” Archombadin turned to the next page of the book, though he hadn’t finished the prior page, purely to make a point. 

“Oh, please, Archombadin,” Crammevoix leaned forward even further, “As though you aren’t even worse with Etienne than you were with Lebrassoir. Though I do suppose you get a point for proving me wrong.”

Archombadin closed his book, fixing Crammevoix with an icy gaze. “If there is aught you are accusing me of, I would hear it plainly. Unless,” a sneer curled his upper lip, “You would find the mental exertion of avoiding euphemism too strenuous?”

Crammevoix shrugged, letting out a sigh at the same time. “Alright, alright, no need for hostility.” He met Archombadin’s gaze full-on, “But you  _ are  _ involved with Etienne, no? As more than friends?” 

Heat crawled up the back of Archombadin’s neck, but he did not cow from Crammevoix’s stare. “I do not see why that would be at all to your concern.” 

“It isn’t! But I do ever so love to stick my nose in other people’s business. Besides,” Crammevoix leaned back in his chair, “You do make a rather fetching pair.” 

Archombadin at last allowed himself to look back down at his book. “How unfortunate that Etienne and I are  _ not  _ a pair.” 

“But,” Crammevoix was having none of this calculated retreat, “Do you not spend every moment you are not here in his company? If I were to propose to Etienne the same estimation of your relationship, I doubt his denial would be so swift. Certainly he is looking forward to the end of term as much as any seminarian.” 

Archombadin could not read a single word on the page in front of him. “Your certainty is wholly unfounded. However, I shall relay your theory to Etienne that he may confirm or deny it.” 

“Of that I am even more certain,” Crammevoix leaned back, folding his arms behind his head so he could kick at Archombadin’s ankles beneath the table, “When that bell rings in just a few moments from now you’ll be out the door and down the steps like thoroughbred racing chocobo. The rest of us will be lucky to get a good-bye. Ah, how things change and stay the same.” 

Archombadin set his book down on the table. “Crammevoix. Is prying into my personal affairs and criticizing the ways in which I choose to spend my time outside of these halls your attempt at fostering friendship between us?” 

“Yes, my good man! What else would it be?” 

“Profoundly annoying.” 

And yet Crammevoix was indeed proven correct, as the minute the cathedral bell sang the note that signified the end of the day at the Scholasticate, Archombadin was through both sets of doors and down the stairs, the heels of his boots tapping out a melody of anticipation against the stone walkways. He did not have to linger in this anticipation overlong -- Etienne was just as quick to run up the steps from the Last Vigil to meet him, cheeks red and hair windswept. In a practiced series of motions, they both looked about the nearby vicinity for passersby, and, failing to see any, Archombadin leaned down so Etienne could stand on tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. 

He straightened immediately afterwards, surreptitiously adjusting the ascot that went with his robes as though that was the entirety of what he had been doing. Etienne grinned at him, and there was little Archombadin could do save return the smile in kind. 

Since the two had laid their feelings bare in the comfort of Dzemael manor, a distinctly warmer light had been shed on the relationship between Etienne and Archombadin. That was not to say what they had before was not warm, but instead as though a second lantern had been added to illuminate this new aspect. And Archombadin, quite frankly, remained in a state of somewhat elated shock at the fact that Etienne had so easily expressed the same sentiments he had left waiting for trial in the hollow of his chest. It was as Crammevoix had said: this was the bloody savior of Ishgard for whom he had developed such an infuriating affection, and what reason did he have to ever believe it was mutual?

Every reason, it would seem, and Etienne did not let him forget it for a single moment. The reaffirmation of those words shared between kisses came in quiet moments and gentle touches, the way Etienne would take his hand in pointing something out, or favor him with a particularly radiant smile. Physical closeness, too, was a method of communication. No longer when they took to a bench for a conversation did Etienne leave space between them, and even when they walked did he stray a little closer, narrowly avoiding the top of his head catching on Archombadin’s robes when he wore them. Even so, Etienne was diligent in his adherence to the promise he had made not to divulge the nature of their relationship, for all of these small things. 

It was all rather new to Archombadin, though that did not mean he was opposed to it. His relationship with Lebrassoir had been highly Ishgardian, frigid to a fault. And it had not been much of a relationship, had it? It was an obligation, and Archombadin had done nothing to make it mean more. He had cared for Lebrassoir, but been too much of a fool and a coward to ever say so, instead letting the resentment build between them until it had spilled over with such vengeance. Every time he had mentioned it, Etienne had been insistent that neither he nor Lebrassoir was to blame, that they did not have to bear the burden of guilt for Saturnois’ actions and calculated manipulation. But it clung to him regardless, a burr caught on a snow wolf’s pelt, that he deserved more than a portion of the blame. If he had not been so singularly focused on status and pride, would Lebrassoir still have made such an easy mark? They all knew the possibility of a legitimate trial was slim, given house Dzemael had immediately broken all ties with those of Bonfaurt, even though Archombadin had asked they wait to do so. 

A voice snapped Archombadin out of his thoughts. “And here I thought you may be inclined to comment on my rare punctuality. Preparing for the end of term already?” Etienne was never one to let him stew in bitter reflection. 

Archombadin shook his head as though to clear it. “A momentary lapse. Regardless, I would speak elsewhere, lest Crammevoix make an attempt to continue a rather frustrating conversation in your company.” 

“Oh?” Etienne titled his head, “You will have to tell me about it. If not here, there is the question of where...” 

“You speak as though you have a location in mind.” 

“Well,” Etienne smiled coyly, “I will not lie and say I hadn’t hoped you would invite me to Dzemael manor again. A proper tour may be a nice way to spend the afternoon, and if you can spare the time for a refresher on what we discussed per my last visit, I would be more than willing to oblige.” 

“Very well,” Archombadin supposed that being occupied showing Etienne around his family home would most likely take his mind off those more unpleasant matters, “I suppose that can be arranged.”

“Good.” Etienne beamed, which did immediately brighten Archombadin’s mood somewhat. 

They set off across the Pillars, walking in time. When he cast his glance towards his companion, Archombadin noticed that instead of his usual lily of the valley flowers, Etienne wore a dried blue rose tucked into his hair behind his left ear. 

Gently, Archombadin reached down and touched the flower, slightly mussing Etienne’s hair as he did so. “Is the Haillenarte rose not red?”

The touch seemed to surprise Etienne, who stumbled a little, cheeks a deeper shade of red than usual. “No, no, it is, though this is not... Actually, I suppose it is a Haillenarte rose, after a manner of speaking. I was going to tell you later, but I did receive an invitation to dinner at Haillenarte Manor the day after tomorrow.” 

“An event you are anticipating with all eagerness, hence the rose?” 

“Yes!” Etienne nodded excitedly, “Though I will admit to a bit of nervousness. Are you familiar with the meaning of the blue rose? It is rather fitting.” 

Archombadin pondered the question. “No, I am afraid I am not.” 

“Oh, was the language of flowers not a part of your highborn education?” Etienne frowned, “Regardless, it has a few meanings. Most generally: impossible. In some other cases, it specifically means ‘impossible love.’” Something clouded Etienne’s expression, “It was also my title when I was a gladiator. ‘Etienne of the Blue Rose.’”

Etienne’s tenure on the Ul’Dahn bloodsands seemed a sensitive subject to broach, despite the fact that it occasionally came up in conversation. Though Archombadin did want to inquire further, the two of them had already passed through the Arc of the Venerable and were upon the stairs of Dzemael Manor before he had a chance to properly formulate his question. The guard at the door recognized Etienne from their last visit, and returned the wave that he gave this time. 

“May I ask your name?” Etienne said as the guard opened the door. 

“Jainelette,” The guard replied, “And yours, Ser--?”

“Etienne. Just Etienne, if you would.” 

“Of course. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Etienne.” Jainelette bowed courteously. 

“Yours as well, Jainelette!” Etienne waved to her again before following Archombadin inside. 

Such a small thing, and yet Archombadin puzzled at it as he showed Etienne inside the manor. Had he, in all his years living here, even once asked after a guard’s name? Likely not. 

He did not have too much time to consider it, however. Etienne was already thoroughly engaged in a head-swiveling survey of the inside of the manor, yellow-gold eyes alight with interest at every winding staircase and high-ceilinged hallway. In all of the many improvements and alterations that the long line of Dzemael craftsmen and women had conducted, the house itself had become somewhat labyrinthine in construction. There were a variety of secret rooms and passages, only some of which were known to the family, and even fewer to Archombadin himself. Simply put: he was going to make a poor tour guide. 

A gasp from Etienne drew his immediate attention whilst Archombadin had been plotting a proper route for them to take that would end in the same study as before, so that the other item on their agenda would be as unlikely to be interrupted as possible. He turned to find Etienne practically sprinting down a hallway in the opposite direction. With a huff, he followed, finding no need to run in order to catch up. 

Etienne was standing in front of a massive painted portrait at the end of the hall. “Sylvetrel de Dzemael!” The excitement was apparent in his voice as he gazed up at the picture. 

The identification of the depicted figure was correct-- there the great knight was, shown in armor, a lance in one hand as he turned a steely gaze toward the viewer. There was a slightly imperious tilt to the man’s lips, but whatever pridefulness he displayed was by all accounts, even those revised, deserved. Or maybe Archombadin was imagining it. 

“He has your nose, you know.” Etienne spoke without looking away from the painting, “Very handsome, though I will admit my preference has long skewed towards Haldrath.” 

“That you would be in good company with many of the Knights Twelve has been a topic of much scholarly debate.” Archombadin folded his arms, glancing at a corner of the ceiling in the hopes it would somewhat conceal the heat that had risen to his cheeks. 

Etienne adopted a more thoughtful stance, bringing one hand up to his chin. “I believe I would side with whichever side posits that the knights were involved, speaking from experience. There  _ is  _ an intimacy to fighting side-by-side in the face of death and danger. But do go on.” 

Archombadin cleared his throat, feeling as though the portrait of his ancestor was weighing his words. “While historians retain fewer documents regarding the founders of the four High Houses themselves, in all likelihood due to... the revisionist practices of certain parties, there are in fact a number of epistolary texts from both members of the original Knights Twelve and subsequent letters of the Heaven’s Ward still retained within the Scholasticate library. While those who would oppose your stance insist the records of progeny between those knights with whom we have evidence strongly suggesting intimate relationships disprove there was more than friendship among their number, others argue that such records are simply not sufficient evidence, and point to the historical lack of a celibacy oath taken by Temple Knights. In fact, the oath of celibacy taken by the Heaven’s Ward is considered a newer implementation of the relationship-negative reading of said texts.” 

Etienne nodded along attentively. “Oh, this is fascinating. Is there speculation regarding the founders of the High Houses, even given limited texts in the canon?” 

Archombadin scoffed. “Of  _ course  _ there is speculation.”

“And?” Etienne leaned forward, “Have you any personal theories?” 

“You would ask my personal theories on the  _ intimate relationships  _ of the four founders of the High Houses here, in plain view of the very portrait of one of their number?” Archombadin could hardly keep the incredulity out of his voice, making a sweeping gesture in the direction of the painting.

Etienne was unruffled. “Yes, I would. Were you to wear the boots of Sylvetrel de Dzemael, with which of your fellow knights would you swear your bonds of love, exchange tender letters, and, you know, engage in clandestine acts of affection?” 

“You cannot be serious.” 

“I am entirely serious. Would you like me to go first?” 

Archombadin arched an eyebrow. “Was this all an elaborate ploy so that you could share  _ your  _ theory, Etienne?” 

“It was not!” Etienne put both hands on his hips, “But you are making it seem as though I should have read the literature before asserting I have a theory at all.” 

“How good of you to have the self-awareness to recognize the basic principles of scholarly debate.” 

“Fine,” Etienne sighed, “I’ll save my theory. But you never answered my question, Chomby.”

Archombadin shrugged. “Is it not obvious? Haldrath, of course.”

“Ooh,” Etienne said, a grin dancing across his lips, “How rude of me to doubt your good taste.” 

“And what, pray tell, is that supposed to mean?” 

“Oh, nothing,” But Etienne was still grinning, “About that tour?” 

Though Archombadin could have pressed the matter further, he did not, instead motioning for Etienne to follow him back down the hallway to the Dzemael manor foyer, which connected to several of the other points of interest within the house. He first walked Etienne up to the Rook’s own greenhouse, which was situated just adjacent to an open-air garden and gazebo. If one was so inclined to climb, they could easily cross the stone railing and find themselves on the steps of the Tribunal. The location was both convenient and inconvenient, or it had been when Grinnaux and Paulecrain still frequented the manor grounds. The proximity to authority had done little to steer either of the two away from trouble, or so Archombadin had heard, though by that point he had already primarily relocated to the Scholasticate dormitory. 

Etienne loved the greenhouse, fawning over the flowers and touching the leaves of every plant he found interesting. Archombadin couldn’t claim a particular knowledge of flora, even those cultivated by his family, but he could not act as though Etienne’s excitement wasn’t somewhat infectious. He made special note of the Dzemael tomatoes, which were just beginning to turn a vibrant shade of red, and Etienne expressed that he should very much like to see them again when they were ripe. Archombadin agreed, of course, that Etienne would be more than welcome. 

The two of them continued through the halls in much the same manner, Archombadin detailing the notable features of construction and interior design as he knew them, and Etienne commenting along with interest. At last they arrived in the same hallway as the study where Archombadin had been roundaboutly directing their course from the beginning. 

The familiarity of the location was not lost on Etienne, who pursed his lips, casting a furitive look in Archombadin’s direction. “This concludes the tour, then? I hardly feel as though I have seen everything.” 

“Certainly there is more of the manor which you may view, but would you not prefer to have an excuse to visit again?” Even as the words left his mouth Archombadin felt embarrassment at being so presumptuous wash over him. 

“Oh!” Etienne’s face broke into a smile, which immediately alleviated the feeling, and sent Archombadin’s pulse stuttering besides, “Yes, I very much would like to visit again. Though you are aware I don’t come here for the architecture, yes?” 

Archombadin opened the door to the study, and then closed it once Etienne had walked through and they were both inside. “You are invested in the tomatoes, of course.” 

A wrong answer, but Archombadin was nonetheless rewarded with a laugh from Etienne. “No, no, I promise there is aught I like more than the tomatoes.” 

Archombadin secured the lock on the door, and then crossed the study floor to settle into the armchair near the hearth, folding one leg over the other. “I cannot fathom what that would be.” 

“Truly?” Etienne followed, leaning his elbows on the arm of the chair. “I thought I had made it clear that I like you far more than I do your tomatoes.” He leaned in, just a bit further, and pressed a kiss to Archombadin’s lips. 

“Perhaps the point bears repeating.” The moment contact was broken, Archombadin found himself longing for it to resume. 

“Mm,” Etienne crossed to the front of the chair, and then seated himself sideways on Archombadin’s lap with a calculated grace, “Perhaps it does.” Etienne placed his hands on Archombadin’s cheeks. 

This time, no asking was required. Archombadin closed his eyes. 

***

Archombadin returned to the dormitory some time later into the evening, and found that he had a letter waiting. 

Next to the moogle’s paw print that denoted the carrier was the wax seal that indicated the sender: the curling thorns and petals of the Haillenarte rose. Archombadin hesitated as he cracked the wax, thinking of Etienne. It was strange at all that he should be the recipient of a Haillenarte letter, and he did not find himself less confused by the contents of the envelope. The gilded edges of the parchment gave away the contents of the words before he had the chance to read them. It was an invitation. A most cordial one, even, to a social gathering to be held the day after tomorrow at Haillenarte manor. 

Archombadin frowned at the words. It would not be his first High House party, of course, but given the date it could not be different than the one Etienne had mentioned, and to his understanding that was to be a rather more casual gathering. He scanned the invitation again, noting this time that his gracious hosts expressed a desire for all of the High Houses to be in attendance. It was likely, in that case, that some number of Archombadin’s family had received the same letter. The thought that the young lords of House Fortemps and Durendaire would also be in attendance brought a scowl to his lips. Francel he could abide, especially given their shared connection in Etienne, but he could not promise the same cordiality to Sers Emmanellain and Jannequinard. 

There were no unplanned excursions to Dzemael Manor in the day and a half before the party, in fact, Archombadin did not see Etienne at all. As the end of term approached so too did his responsibilities increase, though, to their credit, Theomocent and Leigh made the work significantly easier than it had been in the past. Given the recent difficulties the Scholasticate had faced, an executive decision had been made to extend the time the students would spend there by one calendar year. Those who sought to graduate at the previously appointed time were of course welcome to do so, but those who wanted to take initiative and help to implement the changes to their time-tested establishment were equally welcome to stay. Very few had chosen to leave, but they had requested the usual breaks in the studying rotation to remain in effect, and here they were at last approaching one. Archombadin was uncertain as to how he would be spending his downtime, besides studying. At least he would only be alone if he chose it... Lebrassoir was not going to be so lucky, but Archombadin couldn’t bear to think about that for too long. 

The Dzemael delegation to the Haillenarte gathering was small, only Archombadin and Guillefresne being available to make an appearance, even though Guillefresne  _ had  _ somehow managed to schedule an appointment with Jandelaine before the event to retouch his hair and mustache. Archombadin had chosen his alpine coat for the occasion, based on the vaguely nonsensical notion that it might be a lucky item of clothing, given what had transpired the last time he had worn it. Guillefresne dressed similarly, and yet as the two crossed the Pillars streets to the Last Vigil, they hardly looked related. Now that the night was upon them, Archombadin admitted to the slightest flutter of nervousness in his chest. It had been a handful of years since his last true attendance at an event like this, and he could not recall ever having attended one without Lebrassoir’s company. He represented House Dzemael as much as Guillefresne did, and the weight did not rest as easily on his shoulders as the furred lapels of the alpine coat. 

Archombadin and Guillefresne were greeted at the door first by a guard and two manservants, who were eager to escort them inside. Haillenarte manor was more conventional in construction than the Rook, with a spacious foyer that included several chairs and couches. Upon first glance, Archombadin did not see anyone he knew among those mingling, as they all seemed to be of an older cohort. As soon as Guillefresne began a conversation with one of the older noblemen Archombadin struck out on his own, trying to recall some of the layout of the house from whenever the last time he visited was. A hall across the foyer from the entrance lead to a set dining room table where the latter half of the evening’s proceedings would likely take place. The smells that wafted out of the kitchen were enticing, but Archombadin was instead tempted by the sounds of laughter down another hallway. 

With a hesitation in his steps he followed the sound, Archombadin returned to the foyer and turned a corner. He found himself in a corridor filled with painted portraits, all decorated around the edges with roses. Some few yalms down the hall came the laughter again, and as Archombadin approached the noise distilled itself into three distinct figures, one in particular standing out as shorter than the other two. Etienne, of course, as well as Francel de Haillenarte and Emmanellain de Fortemps. Archombadin felt his shoulders tense slightly in apprehension, and he stopped walking, considering turning around and resigning himself to conversations with the aged counts for the rest of the evening rather than interrupting their jovial gathering. 

His presence did not go unnoticed for quite long enough that he was able to do so.

“Chomby!” Etienne’s voice rang out clear, followed by the sound of boots on the carpet as he ran to close the distance. Once he had done so, Etienne clasped both of Archombadin’s hands with his own, beaming. “You’re here!” 

Archombadin hesitated, letting the touch last well beyond the moment it was meant to before pulling away. “Indeed I am.” 

Etienne was dressed in an elegant and high-collared white shirt that did not entirely suit him, tucked into the trousers favored by the High Houses, which were subsequently tucked into Etienne’s favorite pair of heeled boots. The shirt was rather tight around Etienne’s upper arms, betraying a surprising amount of muscularity that was usually concealed by layers of fabric. Archombadin was finding it difficult not to stare. 

“It is a pleasure to see you again,” Francel’s voice, calm and pleasant as a spring breeze, “On behalf of House Haillenarte, I thank you for attending our humble gathering.” The young lord was without his customary hat, making the air above his head feel somewhat empty. Regardless, when Francel bowed courteously, Archombadin returned the gesture. 

Emmanellain put a hand to his brow and looked around, feigning the role of a battle-weary lookout. “We’ve a veritable House of Lords, haven’t we!” Having made his point, Emmanellain leaned an elbow on Etienne’s shoulder, “You know, old boy, despite all the rumors that you two are oft about town together, I never would’ve believed you were acquainted with little Lord Dzemael here.” 

Etienne shrugged him off. “More than acquainted. In fact, if the two of you would allow Archombadin and I a moment of privacy, there is a painting here I would love to hear a seminarian’s informed opinion on.” 

Francel nodded, even while over Etienne’s other shoulder Emmanellain was shaking his head. “Of course. Lord Emmanellain, shall we see about designating our seats for tonight’s dinner? You did say you were particular about seating arrangements.” 

“Fine, fine,” said Emmanellain, “But I shall only agree to your selection should I have a chair near the ever radiant Laniaitte, you know.” 

“Yes,” the warmth of Francel’s voice seemed to ice over, “I suppose we shall see about that.” 

Francel and Emmanellain were quickly down the length of the hall and around the corner, leaving only Etienne and Archombadin. 

Etienne motioned towards the end of the hall. “This way, if you would?” 

Archombadin followed after Etienne, taking a calculated longer stride so that they walked side by side. “Francel does not  _ know,  _ does he?” 

Etienne’s gaze was resolutely fixed ahead. “No, he does not. I would not be so quick to betray your trust or to lie, you know.” 

Archombadin had no response, so they walked in silence to the end of the hall. As he cast his gaze about the hanging portraits, it became clear that all were depictions of Haillenartes of the past. Most were shown smiling, or surrounded by family, though some few honored military victories. Dzemael Manor had no such dedicated wing for recollecting its forebears, even the portrait of Sylvetrel was tucked away in a corner. Instead, as the Rook had expanded in architectural editions, plaques were added to note significant contributors. This meant, of course, that those who had not contributed were condemned to musty pages and family registries. How romantic indeed that House Haillenarte should make such an effort to retain the faces of those who came before. 

“Here we are!” Etienne said, snapping Archombadin out of his reflection. “What do you think, Chomby, is there any family resemblance?” 

It was the predictable ending to a hall of Haillenartes: against the furthest wall, illuminated by its very own lamps, was a painting of Driancoin de Haillenarte. He stood resolutely in his armor, but he held no weapon, even as the hilt of a sword peeked out from a lower corner of the canvas. Instead, he held one hand to his chest, as though in prayer. Driancoin’s bright blue eyes were hopeful, his lips smiling. Etienne mimicked the pose of the painted figure, and Archombadin had to admit he saw the resemblance in the line of Etienne’s jaw, the way that his hair curled over his cheekbones just as Driancoin’s did. 

“I suppose there is some manner of resemblance, yes.” Archombadin said. 

“Oh.” Etienne stiffened, color rising to his cheeks. “I was mostly joking. You really think so?” 

Archombadin nodded. “You are well aware I would make no attempt to spare your feelings if I did not.” 

“Yes,” Etienne smiled, “It is one of the many things I like most about spending time with you. But I did not steer us away from the festivities just to get your opinion on my looks. To be honest, I... need your help.” 

“Do you?” Archombadin folded his arms, “I cannot imagine in what regard, o storied savior of Ishgard.” A smile, unbidden, crossed his lips.

Etienne winced. “Well, for all that, this storied hero has never been to a fancy party.” 

“Ah,” Archombadin shelved his next sharp-edged comment, “And you could not consult Francel or Emmanellain on the matter?”

Etienne shook his head, fidgeting with the lace on the ends of his sleeves. “No, because they’re both among those I’m supposed to be making a good impression on. Count Haillenarte is going to be announcing my status as an official member of House Haillenarte tonight, and I cannot afford to make a fool of myself.” 

“And you do not think that  _ I  _ am worthy of the extra effort for a good impression?” Archombadin could not help himself. 

Still, Etienne seemed to relax a little, an easy smile on his lips. “Oh, please. You are practically begging for me to kiss you!”

Almost without thinking, Archombadin reached a hand out to gently cup Etienne’s cheek. Etienne went wide-eyed at the touch, and then leaned into it, much like a housecat, with a smile that creased the corners of his eyes. It overwhelmed Archombadin for a moment, the warmth of Etienne’s skin against the fabric of his gloves, the fondness of Etienne’s expression. He  _ was _ in love with Etienne, unmarred by the Coerthan cold and custom that had defined his relationship with Lebrassoir. Though he had by his own tongue but recently declared it to be so, the truth of those words distilled themselves into a second realization. He wanted this, this insufferable fondness, and it  _ ached.  _

A frown wrinkled Etienne’s brow. “Did I... was that wrong of me to say?”

“No,”  _ Though the concealment of our relationship was at my request, for every second spent in this manner I find it altogether more irksome to continue doing so.  _ Archombadin pulled his hand back, though he did not want to, “You did not. Regardless, I may have some few words of wisdom regarding etiquette that you may find suitable to your purpose.” 

“Thank you,” Etienne touched the cuff of Archombadin’s coat, “Though I am restrained by discretion, I can at the very least say I am glad you’re here. Shall we rejoin the proceedings? You can share some of this wisdom on the way, and with any luck Francel and Emmanellain will have secured us seats that aren’t too far apart.” 

Archombadin nodded his agreement, and the two retraced their steps through the hall of portraits. As they walked, Archombadin did what he could to outline the ins and outs of Ishgardian social conventions, including proper responses to conversation starters and table manners. It was not a comprehensive course by any means; Archombadin had forgotten some portion of the manners lessons he had taken as a child, and Etienne already knew the proper codes of address as well as the faces of many of the noblemen in attendance. As they approached the section of the hallway that led into the rest of Haillenarte Manor, Etienne’s focus noticeably drifted, as though he were searching for something. When Archombadin asked after the observation, however, Etienne shook his head, insisting it was nothing.

It did not take long for either of them to get swept away by the current of conversation within the dining room. As soon as he spotted Archombadin, Guillefresne was beckoning him into his ongoing exchange with Count Durendaire. Etienne, for his part, had been wrangled into settling what looked to be an argument between Emmanellain and Jannequinard. Etienne’s eyes locked with Archombadin’s from across the room, though there was naught they could do to close the distance. As he watched Etienne between giving his own remarks, Archombadin noted that Etienne did not seem to be struggling to hold his own. Still, it made him wonder how history might recall the day. In all likelihood, his association with Etienne would start and end at the Scholasticate, and even then the passage would not amount to more than a footnote. It was the same argument that many scholars had in the case of relationships between the Knights Twelve or other prominent historical figures. What place did historians have to ponder what was denied to them by the past in assuming they would have been worthy keepers of those secrets kept for the sake of circumstance?

The evening proceeded apace, philosophical quandaries aside. Etienne and Archombadin continued their social rotations, rarely intersecting, until the house staff began to shepherd the guests into the dining room for the meal portion of the night's proceedings. The arrangement of seating was determined by age, status, and house affiliation.. At the head of the table sat Count Haillenarte, flanked by his eldest sons. Francel and the lady Archombadin presumed must be Laniaitte de Haillenarte followed, and then the Fortemps and Durendaires in a similar fashion. To Archombadin’s surprise, Etienne was not seated with the other Haillenartes, though he supposed that would give away the grand surprise of the evening. Instead, as Archombadin perused the name cards atop the deep green tablecloth, he found that Etienne would be seated across from him near the foot of the table. Etienne would have certainly made some remark on how it would have been better for them to be seated side-by-side, but Archombadin found this arrangement to his liking. It had been difficult to explain the nuances of dining at an Ishgardian table during their earlier conversation, and like this he could easily prompt Etienne on which fork or knife most suited the current course. 

When Etienne sat down he favored Archombadin with a smile, lifting up his name card on the table and motioning to it. Archombadin nodded that he had seen it, and pointed to Etienne’s rolled napkin, which was a lighter but nonetheless complimentary shade of green. Etienne’s mouth formed an “o” as he realized the contents of the silent instruction and hurriedly laid the cloth across his lap. 

Archombadin did what he could to discreetly make certain Etienne was practicing habits to suit a nobleman throughout the first four courses of dinner, though Etienne seemed distinctly less enthusiastic about each plate as it arrived. By the time the fourth course, the main dish, had been on the table for long enough that the staff was clearing plates, Etienne had hardly touched the food. Archombadin did not have long to ponder it. Count Haillenarte stood, at the end of the table, and tapped a spoon against a glass to capture the attention of his guests. 

“My esteemed Lord and Ladies of Houses Fortemps, Durendaire, and Dzemael,” Count Baurendouin was not an especially tall man, but his voice carried clear across the room, “On behalf of House Haillenarte, I thank you for your attendance this evening. If you were not already aware, tonight’s culinary wonders and oddities were provided by the merchants in the Firmament, as a favor to my dear son Francel, who has worked tirelessly as of late in his duties as the Lord Overseer of the restoration effort.” Polite applause from gloved hands in laps, with one exception. 

The Count continued: “However, it was not solely for praise of his efforts that I have invited your honored selves to Haillenarte manor this evening. Tonight we celebrate a reunion. Some of you may have noticed we have a guest of singular and realm-wide renown in our midst,” he titled a glass in the direction of Etienne, who stiffened noticeably, lifting one hand in half a wave, “But fewer of you will recall the exploits of my long estranged sister, Jennie de Haillenarte, though now she is known by a wholly different name. Even should you have known her then, you would not know that she mothered not one, but two children, and that the very hero who dines among you tonight is one of that number.” 

A chorus of whispers across the table as this fact was declared. Count Baurendouin took advantage of the pause to motion to the kitchen staff, who set about filling fluted glasses around the table with what looked to be some manner of sparkling wine. Archombadin hardly noticed, his attention fixed on Etienne, who seemed as though he was barely managing to resist an urge to hide under the table. 

“After much consideration, I have decided to leverage my status as Count Haillenarte to un-do Jennie’s renunciation of her title, and formally welcome Etienne Penne as a member of our household.” Count Baurdendouin did not wait overlong to continue speaking, “I am certain I need not ask you all to afford him the dignity and respect he has already earned in service to our nation. Regardless, Etienne, would you care to say a few words?” 

Etienne nodded, yellow-gold eyes wide with shock. He stood from his chair, and, finding the height insufficient to address the party guests, climbed atop the seat, picking up his glass of sparkling wine as he did so. “I...” he cleared his throat, “Ahem. When I was a child, my home was filled with books. My mother, a school teacher though she was, collected them in surprising number for one who lived in a city only adjacent to the Gridanian markets. But my favorite stories were always those contained within the pages of books about Ishgard. For as long as I can remember, to see this city with my own eyes was my one truest dream.” Etienne paused, taking the time to consider his next words. “When I did at last cross the Steps of Faith into your fair city, I was awestruck by the history contained within her walls, far outmatching all the stories I had read. I did not, in those days, ever think that my name, or the names of my friends, would become a part of that history. But it was not the history, or the stunning architecture or any of those many wonderful things that any tourist can find within Ishgard that I fell in love with. Ishgard’s people captured my heart in ways I cannot begin to describe, and I am beyond grateful to be counted among your number this evening, among some of the dearest friends I have ever had the pleasure of making. And that is how I should like to address you this evening, not as a vaunted hero, but as one you can consider a friend in this time of learning and rebuilding. To all of you tonight, I can but say thank you, and hope that if you find yourself in need of a hand to lift you or a shoulder to lean upon, you will not hesitate to ask.”

At the conclusion of Etienne’s speech, 5 things happen in quick succession. 

First: Etienne raises his glass as if to give a toast. He takes half a step backwards as he does so, upsetting the balance of the chair upon which he stands.

Second: Noticing this, Etienne attempts to steady himself, becoming less and less successful as he does so. Forgetting the glass in his hand as the chair tips over backward, Etienne flings his arm out. The liquid in the glass flies over the table in a graceful arc that results in more than half the contents raining down upon Archombadin’s head and the front of his coat.

Third: Etienne’s chair falls over, taking its occupant down with it. While half the heads in the room turn to follow this ungraceful descent, the other half look at Archombadin, waiting for him to stand up in a fit of haughty disdain and embarrassment. 

Fourth: Archombadin does not do as he is expected to. Later, he realizes that had he been truly concerned with keeping up pretenses, he would have left the room to collect himself, assured he would not be called into question for doing so. Instead, his body moves before his mind, and he scrambles out of his own chair and around the foot of the table to be the first to see that Etienne is unharmed, in a daze on the stone floor. Archombadin’s hair still drips with sparkling wine. 

Fifth: Emmanellain de Fortemps voice cuts through the ensuing clamor. 

“Ohh,” he says, the smirk on his lips obvious even to those who cannot see him from where they are sitting, “More than acquainted indeed.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel like the first thing i need to do is apologize for the ending of this chapter. but, uh, yay, there's going to be a third part...?
> 
> these two really activate my almonds like nothing else. i've never had a fic with so few chapters hit a word count this high! 
> 
> there's also a lot of dzemael speculation here. i had fun with that, considering how little content there is in-game. hopefully the new firmament quests don't go out of their way to prove me wrong. that would be really embarrassing. 
> 
> i do hope you enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it. as always, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Etienne recovers from the events of the party at Haillenarte manor, and realizes he almost wishes he could stay injured a little longer, just to have an excuse not to leave Ishgard.

Etienne lay, arms spread out, across the sheets of his bed at the Forgotten Knight. 

By all means it should have been a downy mattress at Haillenarte manor which he was so miserably occupying. Sometimes he still thought of those nights at Fortemps manor, with softer sheets than a baby chocobo’s bottom. But Count Baurendouin thought it best that Etienne kept his distance until the matter of the party had sufficiently settled, the thought prompting Etienne to roll onto his stomach and give a muffled scream into the pillow. For his clumsiness he suffered this banishment, a concussion that still necessitated bedrest, and a series of visitors that had notably lacked the one person whom he most wished to see. Though Etienne could hardly blame Archombadin for making himself scarce, given everything. His chest ached at the idea of it, that never speaking again would be the only way to quell whatever rumors had arisen in order to keep his promise that their relationship would be a secret. And yet it was the thing he remembered most clearly from that night, the tenderness of the concern in Archombadin’s eyes when he’d rushed to Etienne’s side, still soaked in the drink that Etienne had so unceremoniously splashed all over him. When Etienne pulled his face out of the pillow, he noticed two unfortunate damp spots where his eyes had been. 

The visitors who had come by were largely Haillenarte, despite the Count himself not bothering to send his concerned wishes save that his own name be tarnished by Etienne’s unsightly mistake. Aurvael de Haillenarte, second son, had been the first that Gibrillont sent up. He had assured Etienne that in time all would be well, and should Etienne need aught to take his mind off of things (assuming he was no longer suffering from his head injury), an airship to the Diadem would be eagerly awaiting him. Stephanivien had largely agreed with Aurvael’s assessment, though he had conceded there were some matters on which the Count was largely less forgiving. And then he had tried to hand Etienne a gun, which Etienne had refused with a promise that he would stop by the manufactory later to receive it, as he truly doubted that the patrons of Cloud Nine and the Forgotten Knight would be amenable to the sound of amateurishly practiced machinist arts at their fine establishment. Francel’s visit had been the most pleasant, and lasted the longest. This was not entirely due to the fact that Francel had brought tea, but that may have played some small part in the equation. 

Etienne sat atop the bed, legs crossed, while Francel had pulled the stool from the end of the bed to sit upon. Both carefully balanced plates and saucers atop their laps. For a time they had sipped in silence, the fire in the hearth providing a crackle that was the only sound in the room. 

Then Etienne leaned forward, holding tight to the handle to keep his cup from spilling. “Francel, would you please be so kind as to tell me what happened after I left the party?” 

Francel paused mid-sip, clearing his throat. “Once the chirurgeons escorted you away, my father did what he could to calm the other guests with discussions of the current projects being discussed by the House of Lords and Commons.” 

“Proceeding as though nothing had happened.” 

Francel nodded. “Yes. To spare you further indignity.” 

Etienne sighed. “More to spare himself, I am sure. And what of the Dzemaels?” 

“As far as I am aware, both members of the Dzemael party absconded from the rest of the evening’s proceedings. Lord Emmanellain was the only guest who was not entirely understanding of the decision, likely because he wished to press Lord Archombadin on the details of your... relationship.” Francel shifted uncomfortably in his seat, “Am I correct in assuming there was some truth to his speculation?”

“It is not really my place to say.” Etienne stared into his teacup.

“Had you not been the one to make the introduction, I will admit that I would have been equally surprised at your association with one so largely considered rather unsociable. But I will say that in the some few occasions I have seen the both of you together, he did seem fond of you. And you of him.” 

“I can speak for myself, I suppose,” Etienne said, “I  _ am  _ fond of him. But I expect fondness won’t count for the half of my mistake.” Etienne’s tone was as bitter as his expression. 

Francel responded with a conciliatory warmth. “The Fury has ever favored you, my friend. Have faith. I am certain that in time, all shall be as it should.” 

“Thank you,” Etienne smiled as best he could in Francel’s direction, “For saying so, and for the tea. It is it’s own blessing, Francel, to have you for both a friend and cousin.” 

Francel returned the smile. “I was about to say precisely the same thing.” 

The two of them had whiled away the rest of the afternoon in talk, about the Firmament, about House Haillenarte, until the subject of the party came up again, and Etienne decided instead to share the story of his involvement at the Scholasticate, and how he’d met Archombadin. It was nice to reminisce, though it made Etienne all the more eager to be done with resting. 

It was that ever-so agonizing seventh and final day of Etienne’s prescribed confinement when Gibrillont knocked on the heavy oaken door of his room. “You’ve a caller, Etienne. Though I’m not too keen on sendin’ ‘im in before ye take a look.” 

Etienne rolled himself out of bed, smoothing his hair into some semblance of order. He trotted on sock-wearing feet to the door, pulling it open to look up at Gibrillont. “Oh? Is there a problem?” 

Gibrillont motioned down the upstairs hallway of the inn, his hand addressing a figure clad head-to-toe in furs and heavy clothing. Etienne frowned, puzzling over the height and relative formlessness of the guest who was supposedly here on his behalf. 

The realization dawned on him at last. “Thank you for your concern, Gibrillont. I would like to show this caller in, if you don’t mind.” 

“Aye, so long as you’re sure.” With an affirmative nod from Etienne, Gibrillont beckoned the figure down the hall towards Etienne’s room. 

With one last word of thanks to Gibrillont, Etienne shut the door behind himself and his guest. In an instant he set about untangling and unbuttoning the layers of fur and fabric, at last revealing a head of white hair and two ice-blue eyes, high-boned cheeks flushed red from the warmth of being overdressed. 

Etienne had never seen Archombadin in such a state of disarray. He was not dressed in his robes, though he wore the usual white button-down shirt and red cravat, tied haphazardly. The expression he wore, eyes wide, mouth slightly agape, made it seem as though he was somewhat uncertain as to why he was in Etienne’s room. The effect of the whole thing was that Etienne very nearly started crying. Instead, or perhaps in anticipation, he rushed forward, wrapping his arms around Archombadin and burying his face in the cloth of the shirt. 

This time, Archombadin seemed to have some sense of what to do with his hands in the event of an impromptu embrace. He bent over slightly, using the extra reach it afforded him to pull Etienne closer, his arms looping around Etienne’s shoulders. It was a little awkward, and Etienne had to stand on his tiptoes to keep his own hold intact. It was enough, though. Etienne only realized he was crying when the contact broke and he was left staring at a sizable wet spot on Archombadin’s shirt. 

Archombadin held out the affected fabric, looking down at it with a scoff. He looked up to find Etienne still sniffling, and smiled ruefully. “Must you? No excess of emotion can be worth such an unseemly display.” There was a genuine affection to the words that made their delivery especially comical. 

Etienne couldn’t help but laugh, motioning at Archombadin to stay where he was as he searched through his belongings for a handkerchief. Having found it and subsequently cleaned up as best he could, he gestured for Archombadin to come further into the room. “I cannot help it! Would you prefer that I missed you  _ less?”  _

“I would prefer that you not miss me at all,” With a pause of hesitation, Archombadin complied, casting a sweeping gaze about the room, “Can the matter not be rectified before you soil yet another one of my shirts?”

“Oh, certainly,” Etienne sat on the edge of his bed, patting a place next to him for Archombadin, “All is much improved already. I am,” his voice cracked, though the tears did not resume, “I am happy you’re here. I did not know if you would come.” 

Archombadin sat, displacing the mattress slightly with his weight. He folded his arms before Etienne could grab one to hold on to, so Etienne instead settled for leaning up against Archombadin, as close as he could manage. 

“Were that I had been able to do sooner.” Archombadin’s gaze was firmly fixed between his boots on the floor, “My time has been largely occupied with the end of term at the Scholasticate. Besides, I had hoped to--”

“Spare me further indignity?” Etienne pulled away, just slightly, “To the seventh hell with  _ dignity.  _ It has done naught but rob me of my time with those whom I care for far more than I do the high society into which I have so idiotically thought myself capable of wandering into.” 

“No,” Archombadin unfolded his arms, and with the hand closest gently touched the top of Etienne’s knuckles. Etienne turned his hand over, and Archombadin laced their fingers together. “No. I had hoped to speak with you that we may devise some better solution for our current woes. Regardless, Etienne, do not think so little of your ability to consort with nobility. At the very least you gave a passable speech.” 

“ _ Passable?” _

Archombadin turned his head so that Etienne could have full view of a signature Dzemael sneer. “Yes, though I can no longer lay the blame upon lowborn status, perhaps if you were a trueborn son of the Count rather than a nephew you would not have struggled so in your composition and delivery.” 

“Chomby!” Etienne jostled him with a shoulder, “That’s a  _ terrible _ joke. Surely it could not have been so terrible a speech!” 

“And you must promise you will make no improvements upon your public speaking, lest all of Ishgard become aware of your charms.” 

“Oh, and now you flatter me overmuch. Though if you’re worried you might suffer some competition for my affections from the other High Houses, do not be.” Etienne put his other hand on top of Archombadin’s.

“That is...”Archombadin sighed, looking back towards the floor. “That is the matter of which I had hoped to speak with you about.” 

At those words Etienne experienced a sensation not unlike being harpooned with a lance of ice, a bolt of cold running through his chest. “I am listening,” he said, hoping his nervousness was not too obvious. 

Though he still would not meet Etienne’s gaze, Archombadin’s grip on Etienne’s hand tightened. “It is my intention to court you formally. And publicly, for that matter.” 

Where before Etienne’s heart had stopped still before running again, now it had started to sprint. His mouth fumbled with every word until a few managed to tumble themselves out. “What? I don’t...  _ what?” _

“It is the most simple solution. We do aught, save,” Archombadin made a vague gesture with his free hand, “Allow the rumors to be true. Scandal evaded, the long feud between houses Haillenarte and Dzemael may even come to an end.”

“I understand in theory, yes,” Etienne leaned forward, trying to get a better look at Archombadin’s face, “Less so... otherwise. Is that what you want? To court me, I mean.” 

Archombadin turned his head towards the door, making it impossible for Etienne to read his expression. His voice was quiet when he spoke. “How disheartening that you should not know my answer without asking. And yet I am well aware of how little I have done in order to reassure you of my unchanged feelings.” 

“That is hardly true!” Etienne’s voice trembled, but he pressed on, “You would not have had to come here dressed as you were if not for those feelings. I would not have blamed you if you hadn’t come at all. But grand gestures notwithstanding, you  _ did. _ I am not asking if you love me, as I can most happily say that I believe you do. I am asking if you want all that a proper courtship might entail, and so long as the world wants for heroes, I cannot promise I will be always here to keep your heart company. Is that...” Etienne’s words caught in his throat, “Is that what you want?” 

Archombadin turned at last, but he did not say anything. Instead, with his free hand he tilted Etienne’s chin upward, and swiftly leaned down to kiss Etienne on the lips. He pulled away by the slightest fraction to speak. “I would hear what it is that  _ you  _ want, Etienne.” 

Etienne paused in wordless shock. “Oh my,” he mumbled, “You  _ are  _ a quick study.” 

“Indeed,” Archombadin leaned in as though he were going to kiss Etienne again, just to prove the point, but did not follow through, letting his hand brush across Etienne’s cheek as he returned to a more upright position. “Let it not distract from the matter at hand.” 

“What I want, you mean...” This had always been a question where Etienne had fallen short on answers. He was finding it even harder to think like this, still half-expecting that second kiss. “There is so much. I would like for you to court me, though I’ve only ever read about it, and we are not exactly blessed with much time, and I would like for you to promise that when I must leave Ishgard you will be patient enough to invite me to Dzemael Manor again when I come back. But as for what I want, here and now... Could you be persuaded to kiss me again?” 

Archombadin shrugged, though a smile curled one corner of his lips. “I suppose so, given proper encouragement.” 

“That is altogether too much work!” Etienne flopped backwards on the bed, “I am still technically concussed. Have you no pity? Must I fall off another chair?” 

“Oh, please, you certainly need not go so far...” Archombadin shifted as though he were going to attempt to lift Etienne up, angling one arm under Etienne’s knees and the other under the shoulders. After a distinctly painful few seconds, Archombadin gave up, retrieving his arms to stretch the wrists. “But for all your dramatism I may require some assistance in this particular venture.”

Etienne propped himself up on his elbows. “I could lift you, you know.” 

“Yes, I am certain you could!” Archombadin’s voice hit a high note of indignance, “I hardly see how that is relevant to your desire to kiss me.” 

“Well, I suppose it isn’t, though I think it was worth mentioning.” Etienne got to his feet, crossing a few steps to stand in front of Archombadin. He at first seated himself sideways on Archombadin’s lap, as usual, but decided instead to change things up and shifted his position so he could cross his legs at the ankle behind Archombadin’s back. “Is that better?” 

Archombadin nodded, still a little flustered. “Indeed.” 

A moment of heated silence lingered between them, all the anticipation of days apart building to this stalemate of locked gazes, waiting on the first move to be made. 

Etienne could wait no longer. His hands rushed forward ahead of his lips, the right hand to tangle fingers in Archombadin’s hair, the left to cup a cheek. Etienne pressed all the emotion he could into the kiss, hoping Archombadin could read it in his delivery. Archombadin answered this first salvo of physical affection by twining his arms around Etienne’s torso, starting from the hips and working his way up, pulling Etienne deeper into the kiss. 

They stayed that way, interlocked, for a moment that stretched into several, hardly surfacing to breathe. Finally, in a borrowed trick, Archombadin broke away to kiss Etienne on the cheek, and then again along the line of his jaw, and once more, just beneath Etienne’s ear. There was a restraint to it, Etienne thought, a wanting yet unfulfilled. 

Still, with that last kiss, a gasp escaped from Etienne’s throat. “Your technique,” he managed, half-breathless, “Is much improved. You must have had a very good teacher.” 

Etienne could feel the curve of Archombadin’s smile against his skin. “The very best, I believe, though one does not so simply finish at the top of their class.” 

“How long can you stay?” With his right hand Etienne idly stroked Archombadin’s hair, surprisingly soft and yet still a bit damp from sweat and snow, “I would have more of you.” 

Archombadin pulled away, though not by any significant distance. He maneuvered his right hand beneath Etienne’s left arm, bringing Etienne’s hand up his lips to press a kiss against the knuckles. “Were that I could indulge you so. Alas, I do not have the time.” He turned Etienne’s hand over, kissing the palm of his hand and then down along the wrist. 

Each kiss was a bolt of lightning, an electric pulse through Etienne’s veins.  _ I do not remember teaching you this.  _ Etienne’s voice had a slight tremble to it as he spoke. “I can’t say I’m not a little disappointed, but I understand. Still, if you’re so eager to tease me then I would hope you have a moment more to spare.” 

“Yes, yes,” Archombadin grinned, pulling Etienne closer once again, “A moment, and naught more, though I shall certainly be reluctant to take my leave. Does that satisfy you?” 

“Not in the slightest,” Even so, Etienne couldn’t help kissing him, “I’ll be fully expecting you to make up for it next time.”

“Must I always be so beholden to your whims, my dear Etienne?” 

In that instant, everything about Archombadin was warm, from the tilt of his smile to the slight squint of his eyes, the very words he had spoken and the tone in which he had done so. 

Even in the Coerthan cold, Etienne could not help but melt. 

***

The following day, having reported to the chirurgeons at the Congregation and now officially ready to take on the world once more, Etienne followed the cobblestones up to the Pillars towards the Supreme Sacred Tribunal of Halonic Inquisitory Doctrine. It was tempting to divert his course to Dzemael manor, seeing it there, right on the way, but he’d promised to let Archombadin call upon him first before he did. It had been a rather hurried parting the day before, despite their promises both Etienne and Archombadin had let what should have been a farewell kiss drag on into practically its own event. And then Etienne had helped bundle Archombadin back up into his coats and furs and shuffled him out the door, missing him the minute he was gone. 

But this visit was long overdue, though not Etienne’s first. 

After introducing himself to the guards, Etienne was escorted down a long hallway to the holding cells for those awaiting trial. The well-kept stone and steel exterior of the Tribunal gave way to more and more decrepit surrounds, ice dripping down unpolished stone walls. Once Etienne dismissed the guard, having been escorted to his intended cell for visitation, the only sound was the occasional drop of water hitting a puddle or the floor. Nervousness fluttered in Etienne’s chest like a poorly-kept bird. 

“Come to gloat, have you?” A voice, from a darkened corner, a body slouched forward in a perilously rickety wooden chair. Lebrassoir fixed Etienne with an icy stare from behind a pair of bent eyeglasses. 

Etienne felt his shoulders tense. “You’re certainly well informed.” 

Lebrassoir stood, crossing into the intersecting beams of light provided by a window in the hall and of his cell. His magenta-hued hair no longer well-groomed and slicked-back, he cut a particularly haggard figure. It made Etienne’s chest ache with a combination of pity and guilt. 

“And you should keep closer watch of your beloved friends who comprise at least half of the Ishgardian rumor circuit. That aside, there is a guard here who takes the liberty of informing me of my former employer’s activities somewhat regularly, be it for weal or woe.” Lebrassoir’s expression, at least, was terribly familiar. There was a particular poutiness to his lips that solitary confinement had not robbed him of. “Congratulations are in order, I suppose, for wooing Ishgard’s least eligible bachelor.”

“You may be right on the first point. I can’t be certain what you’ve heard, but...” Etienne shook his head, “No, no. I’m not here to trade barbed remarks with you. Do you remember what we talked about the first time I visited you here?” 

“Ah, yes,” Lebrassoir brought a hand up to his chin, “I believe you eagerly proclaimed your willingness to act as my champion should I request a trial by combat, and I had to take great pains to explain why such a thing would not be possible in my case, even if there was ever any indication that I should by some miracle of the Fury be put to trial instead of rotting away here.”

Etienne nodded, stiffly. “That is correct.” 

“If I recall correctly, you were rather enthusiastic about the prospect until I informed you of the flaws of your plan. Is that why this is only your  _ second _ visit, or were you merely waiting until I was truly out of the game to make good on your promise?” 

Etienne stared down at the stone floor. “I will admit that visiting you is not my favorite activity, and you’ve done an excellent job of proving why. But if you must know, I was at the time called away from Ishgard. Now that I am back, and expecting that I will have to leave again sometime in the near future, I have come to speak with you regarding a possible alternate solution.” 

Lebrassoir raised his eyebrows. “Is that so?” 

Etienne nodded, taking a deep breath before looking up to meet Lebrassoir’s gaze. “Yes. If you’ve heard about the mishap with my speech, then you also know that I am now officially considered a member of House Haillenarte. In your informed opinion, Lebrassoir, being the savior of Ishgard would not be enough to swing the possibility of a legitimate trial in your favor. Would the weight of a High House serve to skew the balance?” 

Lebrassoir paused, eyes widening. “You would be so quick to invoke your family name on my behalf, having only freshly acquired it?” 

Etienne allowed himself a faint smile. “I believe I owe you this much. Besides, your former classmates would be more than happy to testify on your behalf. You’ll hardly need me once I’ve done the first part.” 

“And should I be acquitted, what would you have me do?” 

“That would be entirely up to you,” Etienne said, “If you’re feeling particularly indebted to House Haillenarte you could always pick up machinistry, though I’m certain your peers at the Scholasticate would be overjoyed if you felt inclined to rejoin them. All I would ask is that you sometimes keep an eye on Archombadin when I am not in Ishgard to do so myself. Though given you’re asking at all, I suppose that means my idea would work?”

Lebrassoir shook his head. “There is no such certainty. Even so,” he smirked, “I struggle to believe you would be so quick to leave me alone with Archombadin.”

“It’s not in you that I would need to place my faith, is it?” Etienne’s smile was cloyingly sweet, “How surprising that you should remain so eager to dissuade me from helping you.” 

Lebrassoir sighed. “Apologies. I find fewer and fewer reasons to hold my tongue.”

“I won’t begrudge your honesty. But there’s a difference between that and saying the worst possible thing at any given time, isn’t there?” 

“Perhaps there is. Regardless,  _ Master Penne,  _ what do you possibly gain in ensuring my freedom? It places your house name in jeopardy to leverage it on my behalf, should I misbehave.” 

“I hope to gain your friendship,” Etienne smiled sincerely this time, “We’ve never gotten along quite as well as I might have liked, though I’ve some idea as to why... That aside, I do not do this entirely for myself. There are many who would not see you condemned to this fate, and one in particular who I know worries after you most furiously, though he’d be just as quick to deny it.” 

“And in the interest of your upcoming departure from Ishgard, you hope to assuage some of this worry.” Lebrassoir pursed his lips, which only added to their poutiness. “But tell me, what is your idea of the reason that we are not on better terms?” 

Etienne tilted his head. “I was being rather disruptive in regards to your revenge scheme, was I not? And now I’ve, er, stepped into a vacancy you created, which I imagine does not help the situation...” 

Lebrassoir rolled his eyes. “Oh, no, I did not like you from the very first.” 

Etienne’s face contorted with shock. “Might I ask why?” 

“I was  _ jealous  _ of you. Of your freedom.” Lebrassoir looked around, “Though I suppose what I had then was beyond luxurious in comparison to now. And the way Archombadin would look at you made me think that if you were not the Warrior of Light I would be so inclined as to arrange for your mysterious disappearance as well.” 

Before Etienne had a chance to respond to that rather loaded statement, Lebrassoir continued. “Here I was, calling him the sun to my moon, while all the while his gaze idled in your direction whenever you were in the room, waiting for the next time you’d favor him with a cutting remark.” 

“That is...” Etienne pulled at one of his sleeves, “That is, well, I suppose I can see how that would be particularly vexing.” 

“For none more than Archombadin, I would assure you.” 

“I’d no idea, really,” Etienne hazarded a half-smile, “I was doing my very best not to like him.” 

Lebrassoir turned away from Etienne, towards the window. “You may proceed with your proposed solution, though I suppose you do not exactly need my permission. I accept your terms.” 

“Oh!” Etienne clapped his hands together, though Lebrassoir could not see it. “I will keep you apprised of the situation to the best of my ability. As long as I can, I mean. Thank you.” 

Lebrassoir scoffed. “You should hardly be the one thanking me. Do as you will.” 

Etienne left the Tribunal feeling somewhat lighter than he had before, relieved that at least one of his less-than-pleasant errands for the day had gone better than expected. As he exited the building he was once again sorely tempted by the sight of Dzemael manor, but his next destination was in the opposite direction. To inform Count Haillenarte of his improved condition, then, and after that owed a visit to the Skysteel Manufactory. Though spending time with Stephanivien was certain to be interesting, Etienne knew he’d enjoy it better if he wasn’t so anxious to be somewhere else. Etienne paused in the middle of the street to breathe a drawn-out sigh. He brought one hand up to his neck, as though he could touch the memory of where Archombadin had pressed a kiss there the day before. 

That would have to be enough for now. 

***

To Etienne’s surprise, his afternoon at the Skysteel Manufactory had been exceedingly pleasant. Stephanivien was overjoyed that Etienne had actually taken him up on the offer to learn machinistry, and Etienne was glad to properly spend time with his eldest cousin. Stephanivien was warmly enthusiastic as he explained the discipline to Etienne, and equally sympathetic when Etienne admitted he’d not had the most pleasant conversation with Count Haillenarte but a few minutes earlier. After becoming passingly acquainted with the Manufactory’s usual staff, Etienne said his farewells and returned to his room at Cloud Nine. The lack of any communication from Archombadin was disappointing, but Etienne supposed it could not be helped, and it had only been one day. 

It took two more for any sort of communication to arrive. A postmoogle knocked at Etienne’s window in the early hours of the morning, and Etienne scrambled out of bed to receive the letter, and was immediately disappointed that the sender was not Ishgardian. Having been posted from Mor Dhona, the sender was Tataru. Though he felt a bit guilty for it, Etienne did not exactly want to open the letter, having some idea of the contents. He climbed back in bed, fitfully rolling around until the time he usually awoke. Only then did Etienne go about his morning, pretending as though the letter was not there, but by the time he was washed and dressed he could ignore it no longer. 

It was a summons to an Alliance meeting being held in Ala Mhigo, one week hence. One week... Etienne sighed bitterly. That was hardly any time at all. He was going to have to start his farewells today, if he wanted to get through them all before he left Ishgard, to say nothing of the fact that he’d not yet heard anything from Archombadin, or that he did not want to leave Ishgard at all. He tucked the letter into the pocket of his coat and pushed the door to his room open, with noticeably less spring to his step than usual. 

Gibrillont glanced up as Etienne made his way downstairs. “Bit of a late morning for you, innit? Your boy was here earlier lookin’ for you.” 

Etienne stopped in his tracks, frowning in puzzlement. “ _ My boy? _ ” 

“The highborn lad. Dzemael, I’d wager, judgin’ by the hair. Reckon it were him the other day, too.” The eye of the Forgotten Knight’s proprietor was attentive, as always. 

Heat rose to Etienne’s cheeks. “How astute, Ser Gibrillont...” 

Gibrillont gave a knowing smile. “Aye. Said he’d be over in the Crozier if you’ve a mind to meet him. Weren’t all that long ago.” 

Etienne nodded to the affirmative, giving Gibrillont a quick wave before running up the stairs that led out of the topmost level of the Forgotten Knight. He took the aethernet to save time, though he couldn’t help half-jogging once arriving at the head of the winding street that was the Jeweled Crozier. Etienne’s heart was pounding as he scanned the crowd for Archombadin’s familiar features. Etienne’s hopes fell considerably as time passed, and he lost count of the number of times he’d walked up and down the length of the Crozier looking. He’d halfway decided to return in a huff to the Forgotten Knight, when he walked directly into someone headed the opposite direction. Even as an apology was springing to Etienne’s lips, he had the distinct impression that he knew the torso he was staring at. 

“Ah, good,” The voice brought Etienne’s attention and gaze upward, “I was beginning to doubt the barkeep’s assurance that he would pass along my message.” 

Etienne couldn’t help the smile that broke out across his features. “Chomby!”

“Indeed. Were that you could have made such an observation prior to... collision.” Archombadin could only inspect his clothes with one hand, as the other seemed to be occupied holding a bouquet of flowers. 

Etienne couldn’t help but analyze the blooms. Immediately recognizable were the miniature bells of the lily of the valley flower, exactly the same but perhaps a little brighter than those Etienne most often wore in his hair. In between the green of the lily stems were bright sprigs of lavender, and the slightly fluffier white blooms of baby’s breath. This made for a somewhat overbearingly fragrant but very pretty to look at arrangement. The meanings of each flower were not lost on Etienne either, though he had to wonder if the lily of the valley was chosen only because of his preference for them. 

“I can but hope this small token serves as something of an apology for mine absence these past few days,” Archombadin presented the flowers to Etienne with a flourish, “It proved exceedingly difficult to arrange the delivery, and I had hoped to make the gesture more grand.” 

Etienne took the flowers, leaning into the scent. “Feeling sweet today, are we? Or is this part of your grand courtship plan?” Even saying so, he had to admit that the sweetness was doing an excellent job of curing his sour mood. 

“Oh, would you prefer I challenged you to a duel here and now? Or invited you to go watch the chocobos fight at the Proving Grounds? You may be content to lack refinement, Etienne, but I am not.” 

Etienne grinned. “There it is. I presume you did your due diligence in researching the flowers as well?” 

Archombadin made a grand show of shrugging. “You wound me. Of  _ course  _ I put the time into research, after your previous chiding at my unfamiliarity with the blue rose.” 

Etienne held the bouquet a little more tightly. “That’s adorable.”

Archombadin went completely red in the face, which Etienne found even  _ more _ adorable. With an exasperated sigh, he proffered an arm for Etienne to take. Etienne, with one last sly smile, was glad enough to accept. 

They spent the afternoon walking about the Pillars, in a manner distinctly reminiscent of their time together before the events of the party. It was different, affection shining through openly rather than like a beam of sunlight through a closed door, with neither restrained by secrecy. 

At last the two settled into their familiar place on the bench outside the tribunal. Etienne set the flowers down and sidled a little closer to Archombadin. As he did so, something crinkled in Etienne’s pocket. He straightened, retrieving the Alliance letter. Just the sight of it made Etienne’s chest go tight. 

Archombadin leaned over Etienne’s shoulder, curious. “What have we here?” 

Etienne unfolded the paper. “Nothing good, really. The Eorzean Alliance calls me away in a week’s time. Admittedly, I...” his gaze drifted towards the grass, “Was not sure when I would have the chance to tell you. I only received the letter today, and yet I am already more than reluctant to say my farewells.” 

Archombadin folded his arms, bringing one hand up to his chin as his brow wrinkled in thought. “Very well. I shall have to act more expeditiously than anticipated.” 

Etienne, still in a state of distinct unhappiness over the letter, did not think to press Archombadin on what he meant. 

Nonetheless the days passed more happily than Etienne expected, given his looming departure. Archombadin was an unpracticed suitor, sending Etienne home with a new bouquet of flowers each evening, until there was hardly room in Etienne’s quarters for more. Still, there was a sweetness to the whole thing that was irresistible, and Etienne was glad to not have to be so covert with his kisses. In the course of their outings Etienne yet again found himself distracted from his necessary tasks and visits. It weighed on him, but at the same time he felt as though by properly saying goodbye he would be truly agreeing to leave. 

He did not disclose the events of his visit with Lebrassoir to Archombadin. It was a little too soon to truly have hope for the trial, though Etienne had gone through all the proper hoops to lean on his title as newly-made highborn man. He’d even signed on as a character witness, though he could not promise his availability. Still, he could not help but hope that all would go to plan, and Archombadin would no longer have a reason to cast forlorn looks in the direction of the Tribunal whenever they crossed it on their way. 

A few days later, when a letter arrived, the postmoogle had the good sense to deliver it in the early evening, once Etienne had returned to his room. 

It was the most crisp envelope Etienne had ever seen, with his name written upon it in a stunningly elegant hand. The seal on the envelope was equally gorgeous, the tower and halberds of house Dzemael pressed into bright red wax. Etienne was careful to open it, using a fingernail to detach the seal rather than cracking it. The paper he pulled from inside was even more beautiful, gold shining around the corners. Instead of immediately reading the words on the page, Etienne’s eyes were drawn down to an image printed at the bottom. He gasped softly, letting his fingertips trace the ink. 

It was the sigil of house Dzemael again, though only the tower. Instead of the weapons that usually flanked the central image, a rose curled about the stone, the bloom intersecting with the top of the tower. It was a blue rose, beautifully rendered, distinct and yet evocative of the Haillenarte symbol. 

It took Etienne a moment to break free of the trance of the picture, though he could have stared at it for hours. His eyes made their way back to the top of the sheet, and he gasped again. 

The letter was an invitation, specially printed for the guest of honor at a private gathering to be held at Dzemael manor the following evening. It would be the night before Etienne would have to leave for the Alliance meeting, so he could attend, but just barely. He sighed, pressing the letter against his chest. Hopefully this party would go better than the last one had. Etienne scanned the contents once more, searching for some indication of a dress code. Finding none, Etienne frowned. There was very little he owned that passed for fancy, besides a shirt that he was not so keen on wearing a second time. 

Etienne eventually decided on a nicer sweater with a scarf to accompany it, laying out the clothes in advance for a better sense of how they might look together. He didn’t have very many pairs of boots or trousers, so he settled on the usual, and hoped it would be passably presentable for this “private gathering.” In terms of flowers for an accessory, Etienne thought that given the picture on the invitation, there was no choice besides the blue rose. 

As he would be seeing Archombadin at the event, Etienne spent the morning and early afternoon packing his things to leave. It was heartbreaking work, and he could not fit all of the flowers among his luggage. At last, having managed the bulk of it, Etienne changed into his party clothes and went on his way towards Dzemael manor. 

Jainelette was stationed at her usual post when Etienne arrived. He made sure to wave to her on approach, and she smiled in his direction as she nodded that he was welcome to go inside. He hesitated just before the door. He couldn’t be certain what Archombadin had in mind for this party. Archombadin hardly seemed the partying type, after all, and yet the invitation... With one last deep breath to psych himself up, Etienne pushed open the door to Dzemael manor. 

The inside of the Rook felt more lively than it had before, or that was Etienne’s distinct impression as he stepped inside. As the glow of the early evening filtered in through several oddly-placed skylights, candles provided the vast majority of the lighting for the many twisting rooms and staircases. Etienne wandered, mouth-half open in admiration, towards a distant sound of conversation. 

He came upon a small gathering somewhere past the foyer, where a half-sized dining room table was set up. Everyone here was immediately familiar, not at all like the Haillenarte party, where Etienne had known maybe half the lords and only in passing. The crowd was small, consisting mainly of those from the Scholasticate, namely Theo, Leigh, Crammevoix, Blaisie, and Janchette, but Francel and Emmanellain were also among the present number. Emmanellain had an arm around Crammevoix already, and the two were laughing like old friends. Mayhap they were. Etienne would have to ask later. 

Still, as Etienne cast his gaze about the room, he did not see Archombadin. It seemed strange that the presumed host of the party was missing from the festivities, but he did not have time to dwell on it long. Emmanellain was waving him over, which certainly spelled trouble. 

“Etienne, old boy!” Emmanellain’s expression was as jovial as his tone, “How good of you to join us. Did you know...” he gestured to Crammevoix with his free hand, “That Ser Maintigny and I have a long history of friendship between us? I thought I’d never see the chap again, following that tragic business with his family, but here we are, reunited by providence, as it were. Be sure to thank our host on that count, would you?” 

Etienne nodded slowly. “I.. will. No, I’d no idea you were friends with Crammevoix, though it’s somehow not altogether surprising.” 

“Indeed indeed. Now then, Etienne,” Emmanellain leaned towards Etienne, pulling Crammevoix with him, “Have you any idea as to why Lord Archombadin invited so few lovely ladies to this little gathering? Not that we won’t make do, mind you.” He winked. 

“Well, I mean...” Etienne puzzled over how best to say what he thought, “I don’t think Chomby knows that many people, to be honest.” Regret washed over Etienne as soon as the words were out of his mouth.

“Oho?” Emmanellain exchanged a look with Crammevoix, who was grinning like he’d been waiting for Etienne to drop the nickname, “ _ Chomby?” _

Etienne could feel himself going red all the way to the tips of his ears. “I can’t convince you to forget I said that, can I?”

“You most certainly cannot!” Emmanellain’s face was practically alight with joy. 

Etienne was spared further embarrassment by Archombadin, who strode into the room looking especially ruffled. Etienne jogged to meet him halfway, and Archombadin’s expression softened immediately.

“Etienne,” said Archombadin, far too softly for their present company, “Forgive me for not meeting you at the door. There was a matter in the kitchen that required my immediate attention.” 

“Oh?” Etienne tilted his head, “Is there something special on the menu?”

“‘Twould ruin the surprise were I to tell you, would it not?” Archombadin smiled, and Etienne felt slightly worse about his critical misstep in front of Emmanellain, “Regardless, shall we... socialize?” 

Etienne nodded his agreement, but couldn’t help casting a sideways glance at Emmanellain and Crammevoix. 

This party, Etienne thought, was far preferable to the larger gathering at Haillenarte manor. He found in his rounds that Francel and Theomocent had been quick to strike up a conversation and seemed to be getting on well, while the duo of Emmanellain and Crammevoix continued to terrorize the other guests. Eventually the group gathered around the table, which had seats at neither the head nor foot, and no namecards to speak of, though Archombadin did pick the chair closest to the head of the table regardless. Etienne thought about sitting across from him again, but instead chose the seat that was closest, placing them next to one another. 

Archombadin seemed to have a question upon his lips when Etienne sat down. “Now you can critique my fork etiquette up close,” said Etienne. 

“I had wondered if this was your preferred arrangement,” In a motion that was smooth enough to be practiced, Archombadin unfurled Etienne’s napkin and laid it across his lap. “Do not neglect your other manners on my account.” 

“I’d do better if you would allow me to focus.” Etienne kicked Archombadin’s leg under the table. 

The dishes served at dinner were also far more to Etienne’s liking than they had been around the Haillenarte table. He’d been disappointed that nothing served that night was Ishgardian cuisine, given he’d not been able to try any particularly fancy dishes yet. Archombadin could not have known this, or Etienne couldn’t remember having complained about in his presence, and yet every dish was rich in just the flavors he craved, and remarkably cheese-forward. Conversation continued brightly with each course, making it feel less like a banquet and more akin to an unplanned lunch among friends. Etienne wished, somewhere in the wealth of his joy, that it would not have to end, and yet he could not entirely pretend it was not a farewell party. 

The dessert served was Etienne’s favorite. Sohm Al tarts, each crafted with a delicate hand and what tasted like incredibly expensive chocolate. There was not a soul around the table who did not comment on how simply exquisite the dessert was, which left Archombadin wearing a particularly pleased expression. Etienne savored the taste as best he could, taking slow, deliberate bites. It was agonizing to try and preserve so many fond memories in such a short time. 

Bittersweetness followed the chocolate in the form of proper farewells. Etienne promised so many letters that he might not even have the time to do his hero work in between writing them all. He did not cry, luckily, though it was a near thing. Francel seemed just as close to doing so when Etienne clasped his hands and wished him only the greatest success in rebuilding the Firmament. 

Once all the guests had departed, Etienne was left with but one more goodbye to give. Before he could say a word, Archombadin led him up to the greenhouse, presenting Etienne with a basket of beautifully ripe Dzemael tomatoes. Halfway down the stairs, Archombadin still leading, Etienne pulled on his sleeve so that when Archombadin turned around Etienne could surprise him with a slightly less awkward embrace. 

“I am going to miss you, Etienne. Enormously.” Archombadin held Etienne tightly but carefully, as though he was worried that Etienne might shatter in his grasp, too precious a thing to be handled indelicately. 

To be fair to Archombadin, Etienne was feeling rather fragile. He squeezed his eyes shut, though tears had already begun to leak through. Etienne pressed his whole self against Archombadin, hoping to say exactly what he meant before the single word passed his lips. 

_ “Likewise.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, this is it. it's over, and i already miss it. i went through some pretty major life changes that delayed the publication of this final chapter, but i also spent half that time mourning in advance. 
> 
> i left things a little open-ended here in case i do decide to come back and write a little more. i'm really, really bad at sticking to promises like that, so i won't make one, but i've also never busted out this many words before, even for other projects i've loved working on. 
> 
> there's still scholasticate fic i want to write, but in many ways this is my true love letter to my favorite sidequest chain in ffxiv, and to archombadin specifically. i won't say how many hours i spent afk next to him while i was working on this piece, but i'm sure you can guess. 
> 
> thank you to my dear friends who gave me the courage to actually post this, and who have been so excited to see it grow into this monster of a three-part fic so very full of love. you all mean so much to me, and i hope you know it!
> 
> some few pieces of the first two chapters have been edited for clarity/accuracy, so you may notice these changes if you read them when they were posted. it's nothing big, this is just the official disclaimer. 
> 
> as always, comments and kudos are so appreciated. and thank you, sincerely, for joining me on this adventure.


End file.
